


One, Two, and Three

by Xenobotanist



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Canon Divergence, Cardassian Anatomy, Eventual Garashir, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Found Family, Holodecks/Holosuites, Life on a Space Station, M/M, Multi, Optimism, Pansexual Character, Polyamory, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: Deep Space Nine takes on a new resident, who develops relationships with both the doctor and the tailor. What will she do when she finds out the two gentlemen have been secretly pining for each other since long before she arrived?Introducing: vole-eating plants, inside-out tribbles called gibbles, jumja juice (TM), a flag for Deep Space Nine, original Bajoran prophet quotes, edible Betazoid art, holosuite rollercoasters, and a ton of education on real and imaginary musical conceptsThis work is really just a self-indulgent fic that I'm writing to battle the angst in the world and my own life. It's going to be mostly fluff and smut.
Relationships: Elim Garak/OFC, Jadzia Dax/Worf, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/OFC, Keiko O'Brien/Miles O'Brien
Comments: 14
Kudos: 53





	1. Welcome to Deep Space Nine

**Author's Note:**

> We meet Mira, Bashir, and Keiko.  
> Seeing as Mira is new to the station, she will not be privy to everyone's histories and secrets, remember that!

She’d been hoping to enjoy her first step onto Deep Space Nine. She liked to soak in the atmosphere of a place before moving around. But as it happened, she was jostled through the airlock and into a crowd making its way around the Promenade before she had a chance to stop and take a breath. The Bajoran Temple caught her eye- ah, a familiar sight. She perched on a bench outside, set her bag on the floor next to her, and waited for the walkway to clear a bit. The faint sound of a chime sounded from the Temple. While she had never found herself to be particularly spiritual, she did find Bajoran religious practices to have a calming effect. She let the soft chimes and chanting wash over her for a brief time, and nodded to a Vedek as he entered.

Mira couldn’t keep still for long, though. The arc of windows on the second floor were beckoning. She swept her bag onto one shoulder and made her way upstairs. Once there, she found herself surrounded by several other travelers and station inhabitants. They were all watching the starry expanse with a sense of expectation, and a few kept stealing glances at padds, the wall clock, or other timepieces. It must be about time for the wormhole to open, then. What luck! She worked her way forward, trying to people-watch while simultaneously not touching anyone. The frisson of eagerness was palpable, even for those who couldn’t boast Betazoid ancestry.

There was a flash of light, and a bright white swirl exploded with magentas, purples, blues, and—to the eyes of some—the glow of ultraviolet. Whatever was entering or exiting was too small to see, but it must have passed through, because soon after, the gently pulsating eddy of the gateway gracefully collapsed back in.

The spectators dispersed, and Mira found herself stopping to withdraw her own padd from her bag to pull up directions to her new quarters. It directed her to the habitat ring and down a long corridor until she found it. She typed in the temporary security code and entered.

It wasn’t large, but she’d been warned about that from the start. Mostly just a main room with a bedroom and refresher off to the left. She didn’t care, though. Most of the back wall (should she call it a bulkhead or something?) was windows. She could stand just about any size room if the windows were large enough, and these were. It didn’t matter that she was on the opposite side of the station from the wormhole; she could do a little research to find out what wonders were on _this_ side.

She knew she should eat or drink something first, but the desire to make the space her own was too great. She immediately sat down at the console and began personalizing all of her settings. The door code came first, followed by the temperature and lighting preferences. She found the list of replicator codes she’d gathered and set about generating an iridescent bed cover and pillow, a few vases, and a couple of small sculptures.

Mira was so caught up in decorating that when she asked the computer for the time, she was surprised to hear that it was already 2200. She’d missed lunch _and_ dinner. She didn’t feel like going out to eat alone just yet and resigned herself to a few replicated snacks. She really ought to get to bed; her physical exam was in the morning, bright and early.

Smiling to herself, she got ready for bed. Before accepting this position, she’d researched the staff who ran Deep Space Nine. They were all fascinating. She’d made sure that when she’d made her appointment with the infirmary that she’d be seen by the Chief Medical Officer and not one of the nurses. He had a stellar record, and his Starfleet picture had been positively charming.

She’d be going in right after breakfast; morning was her favorite time of day to get things done, partially because she naturally woke early and also because everything was so empty at that time. Floors were clean, the air was fresh, and halls were uncrowded. Mornings were a time of new beginnings, full of promise and possibility. Despite her experiences—repeated experiences—in life, she was at heart an optimist. So she went to bed smiling, hugging her shiny pillow, and looking forward to talking with someone brilliant and attractive before embarking on a new adventure.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

She sat on the biobed, idly swinging her legs, heart beating faster than it had a right to. The doctor had already seen her when she walked in and was directed to wait, and his smile had been pleasantly surprised. The feeling was mutual; he was even more handsome in person, and that accent…

“Hallo. I’m Dr. Bashir. You would be…” He checked his padd. “Palmira Vawn?” He held out his hand. She shook it, enjoying the warmth and appreciating that he had a solid handshake, not too limp or stiff. She was reluctant to let go.

“Yes.” She could feel her cheeks heating up. “But I go by Mira. Nice to meet you.” His eyes had appeared brown on the screen, but in real life there was a faint green tinge too. Hazel eyes. His hair was a bit of a mess, but that smile could win awards.

“I see here that you have a bit of an unusual pedigree. Human, but with both Betazoid and Vulcan ancestry, is that right?” His gaze moved back and forth between her and the PADD and back to her, looking in first her left eye, then right. He reminded her of several of her previous doctors. Intense, passionate, and probably highly caffeinated.

She nodded. “My grandmother on my mother’s side was Betazoid, and my great-grandfather on my father’s side was Vulcan. So, on the whole, I’m mostly human.”

“Fascinating!” Bashir exclaimed. “What is that like?”

She sighed. The long version or the short version? Somewhere in between. “Well, thanks to my heritage, I’m more than a little empathic, but not enough for training, so that can be a little overwhelming at times.” She didn’t like to say just how much, though, because she’d learned that it usually made people wary of being around her. “The Vulcan portion doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on me…” It might play a part in her higher-than-average IQ and the tendency towards perfectionism, but that was just conjecture. “The hardest part is that most medicines don’t seem to have much effect on me.”

Bashir looked intrigued, and started scrolling through her medical information. “Go on.”

“I have a few random allergies that antihistamines have no effect on, my body develops a tolerance to every painkiller I’ve used longer than 6 months, and most of those have little effect on me anyway.”

“Does that mean you have experienced lots of pain? Oh wait, I see. You’ve had… _eight_ surgeries?” He looked back up at her, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Thanks to complications with my unique DNA, yes. I’ve had several bones and muscles realigned, pinned, and removed. My body just…didn’t seem to form right.” Just thinking about it was exhausting.

“Well, your body…” Bashir broke off. He had seemed about to say something and thought better of it. Mira couldn’t resist smiling. She’d heard plenty of compliments about how her body appeared externally, even though she knew that appearances were deceiving when it came to what was inside the wrapping. One lover had described her as “smokin’ hot.” She felt that was an exaggeration, but the sentiment was appreciated. At average height but trim, with dark blonde hair and turquoise eyes, she knew that she was at least somewhat attractive.

“Your body is unique, as are all bodies.” The doctor looked proud of his recovery, but Mira felt a sting of discomfort. She’d grown tired of being told that. It was quickly replaced by pleasure, though, when he pulled out his tricorder and started taking readings, starting at the top and working his way down. She felt a tingle at the back of her neck that extended down her spine, and she wasn’t sure if the cause was his intense focus or some vague sense of the waves and particles extending from the machine in his hand.

“According to your records, you’re all caught up on Bajoran vaccines. I’ll just give you a few more and you can be on your way.” Satisfied with the readings on the device, he disappeared into another room.

Mira silently cursed herself. She always talked too much around doctors. It’s just that no one else seemed to listen to her, much less understand her. There was just so much information and so many curiosities stuffed inside her head, it had a way of leaking out at any opportunity. She’d studied nearly every topic in the galaxy, and she loved trading jargon with any specialist she met, especially in the medical field. She’d considered becoming a doctor at one point, but that had been before—

Dr. Bashir returned with three hyposprays. He administered them efficiently, one to each side of the neck and one to her upper arm. Her hands started sweating when she met his eyes, and his quick grin was friendly enough. She wondered idly if she could come up with any other excuses to return to the infirmary.

“You’re going to be staying here for a while, are you?” Bashir awkwardly juggled the three empty containers in one hand and his padd in the other.

“Um yes. I’ll be subbing for Professor O’Brien when she’s off the station, as well as helping in a few random areas.”

“Well, if you’d like, I could show you around a bit. Deep Space Nine is a rather large installation, and maybe you could use some company? I’m off at 1600.”

Mira blinked. That was unexpected. Was that even professional? Surely medical staff wasn’t supposed to hit on their patients. But he wasn’t really hitting on her, was he? Just being friendly. Of course she wouldn’t mind more than that but… She cut off her train of thought so she could answer.

“Sure, that sounds great! Should I stop by here then, or…?”

“That works. I’ll see you then. I look forward to it,” he said back, with a little half grin that made her insides turn to jelly. Okay now, that definitely looked flirty. She felt a little hitch in her chest as her heart sped up. What a way to start the morning!

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Mira spent the next few hours walking the promenade and wandering wherever her feet would take her. She knew that Dr. Bashir would be giving her the grand tour, but this way she could pay attention to the man and conversation and not be so distracted by taking in the peoples and sights. Too much stimulation at one time could be stressful. The bombardment of her own thoughts was bad enough, but during busy hours there was an additional onslaught of emotions from everyone in the immediate area. Human emotions were bad enough, but add in another half dozen alien species, and music in the background, and it could all be too much. So it was best to get used to an area first to give her companion her full attention later.

She met Professor O’Brien for lunch at the Replimat. Sometimes meeting new people could be nerve-wracking, but the woman’s bright smile was easy to accept.

“Hi! Palmira, right? I’m so glad to meet you. Let’s get in line and talk.”

The next hour and a half passed as they discussed teaching experience and lesson plans. Mira had a solid background in education, and she’d taught herself enough technology to be confident in her ability to handle the classroom screens and student desks. She brought up the idea of in-station field trips, and Professor O’Brien (please, call me Keiko) was enthusiastic about the idea.

Before long, they’d worked their way into a tangent about botany and were comparing Earth and Bajoran flora. Mira was excited to hear that Keiko would talk to the Captain about letting her do some work in the arboretum. She never thought she’d ever have anything to do with Captain Sisko, and here was someone on the first day offering to give him her name! She couldn’t wait to go check the place out and start making plans.

When they parted ways, Mira was surprised by the spontaneous side-hug Keiko gave her. “This is going to be great! I think you’re going to have a lot of fun here, and we’re lucky to have you.”

Mira wasn’t sure how to respond, but wanted to sound gracious. “Well, thank you for accepting my application. I think this will be a fantastic experience, and I look forward to meeting the kids.”

She hurried back to her room to make some preparations for the evening. She needed to replicate some new clothes, and just in case, do a little bit of grooming.


	2. An Evening with the Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not here for smut, just skip the second half of this chapter. Except the last line.

As soon as she saw Bashir leave the infirmary, she knew where things were headed. She couldn’t read exact thoughts, but she could sense general emotions and was well-versed in body language. She wasn’t sure he even knew how the day would end, but she could see it as clear as the loose thread on the sleeve of his uniform.

Mira didn’t understand people as a general rule. The problem was that what comes out of a person’s mouth hardly ever seems to match what their actions said, or what they felt. She found it hard to respond to someone who sounded polite, but their stance clearly said that they were superior and their psychic scent was condescending. Or when a person asked curious questions like they were genuinely interested, but their wandering eyes signaled boredom. But when it came to flirting, the emotions, body language, and words actually lined up. To her, flirting was one of the most honest interactions one could have. And the doctor was one positive signal after another.

As they toured the Promenade and visited observation rooms, passed restaurants, and stopped by vendors, Bashir had walked more closely than necessary, had placed his hand on her back to steer her around obstacles, had hardly stopped grinning. It was intriguing. At times, he came off as utterly confident and even a little arrogant, especially when sharing his accomplishments. Other times, like when he discussed the holosuites, he seemed, well, nerdy. It was endearing, and something she could definitely relate to.

When dinner time rolled around, they found a table at Quark’s. It was a booth against a decorative column, with a view of most of the bar. They sat on the same side and didn’t talk for a minute, just watched all of the patrons conversing and lights flashing. It was a bit louder than Mira would have like (Dabo!), but having her back to the wall was comforting.

“So tell me a little more about yourself. Your history looked quite extensive,” Bashir said. He leaned back, putting his arms up on the back of the booth. One of his hands was behind her head now.

Trying to be cautious about not sharing too much, she kept to the basics. “I grew up on Earth, where I attended college to be a teacher. The dean put in a good word for me at graduation, and I got a position tutoring high school biology on a starship. I started making my own material, which one of the student’s parents liked, and they offered me a position writing for a casual journal. In between articles, I pursued some of the ancient arts, like photography and painting. My work received enough notice to be occasionally published in cultural journals. And then…” She stopped, worried that she was boring him. “I’m sorry. It’s kind of a long story. But suffice to say, I’ve been here and there and done a little bit of everything.”

“So how did you end up on Bajor?” He didn’t seem put off. But he did lean forward and signal to a waiter.

“Oh, well, I’ve always had a soft spot for green planets, and Bajor is covered in temperate and tropical forests. I needed a break from space and back on terra firma. So when I saw that they were looking for aid from other planets to help in their restoration, I volunteered. I taught art classes and what they call life sciences for two years, but… their perspective on science isn’t as…scientific, as mine. It’s more spiritual. I enjoyed it, but it wasn’t the best fit. One of my peers heard that Deep Space Nine could use a substitute for when Professor O’Brien is away, so I relocated here. For now.”

They ordered drinks and settled back into the booth.

“And now what about you…?” She knew his first name, but he hasn’t given her leave to use it yet.

“Julian. It’s Julian.” He leaned onto the table, scooting a little closer to Mira. “I attended Starfleet Medical, well obviously, and graduated salutatorian.” He sighed somewhat theatrically. “If I hadn’t mistaken a preganglionic fiber for a postganglionic nerve, I would have been top of my class.”

“How did that happen?” She asked.

He looked taken aback. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Well, they’re similar, but they’re hard to get switched around. Was the question about their structure, function, or interaction?”

Julian looked nonplussed. “Um..uh…” He was saved by the arrival of the drinks. Mira felt bad about having asked the question. It was clearly embarrassing to him. Maybe he’d just been up all night studying and really tired when he missed that question.

She decided to cut him some slack and moved in a little closer. “So…what do you do in your free time?”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

The conversation lasted much longer than Mira had expected. They actually had a lot in common, from similar tastes in music to a love for literature (albeit different types) to an interest in hormonal similarities between alien races. It was 2500 before they both started yawning.

“I should be getting to bed. I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow,” Mira said. She didn’t really, but she was ready to change venues.

“Me too,” Julian agreed. “I have an early shift.”

They left their table and headed for the exit. It was a quiet walk to the lifts, and then to the habitat ring. Despite her near-exhaustion, Mira felt a jittery anticipation in her torso and limbs. She peeked a glance at Julian and caught him looking at her. They both smiled and laughed quietly, looking back down. It had reached that awkward stage. She was getting too old for that. Either something was going to happen or it wasn’t. So when they exited the lift, she touched his arm. “Could you walk me to my room? I’m still getting used to the station. These corridors are so dark, and they all look alike.”

A pleased expression spread from his crooked grin up to an abrupt heat in his eyes. “Yes, of course.”

When they reached the room, she opened the door and turned to him. “Would you like to come in?”

He didn’t answer but followed her in, stepping forward as she stepped back. As soon as the door closed, he brought his hand up behind her head. She leaned her face up and closed her eyes. Maybe it was just that they were both getting tired, but the kiss was the softest, least hurried first kiss she’d ever had. Their mouths opened, and their tongues touched, retreated, embraced. Both of them had their arms around each other now, and their bodies leaned in to one another. They both seemed to have the same idea at the same time and inched their way toward the couch, still holding each other and connected at the mouth.

Once there, Bashir sank down on it, pulling Mira onto his lap. She hummed in appreciation as she settled on his legs, her knees on each side of his waist. The kiss deepened and became more fervent as they began to move their bodies, and she pressed her crotch into his. She traced her lips along his jaw and back towards his ear. He grasped her hips and gasped as she suckled on his earlobe. His hands worked down to the bottom of her shirt and lifted it over her head.

_Finally, we’re getting somewhere,_ she thought eagerly. She wished to return the favor, but was stymied by how to release her amorous companion from his uniform.

He chuckled low in his throat, sending all sorts of fiery shivers down the center of her torso. “What do you say we move this to the bedroom?”

“Mmm. Yes please.” He wrapped his hands around her buttocks, giving the cheeks a firm squeeze, then lifted her into the air. With a yelp, she wrapped her legs around his middle. He didn’t look very muscular, but he carried her as if she weighed nothing.

As they passed through the doorway to the bedroom, Julian paused. “I love it! How did you get your blankets so shiny? Look at the colors!” Mira pressed her face into his shoulder, trying not to groan. Or laugh. She’d forgotten her immature and iridescent choice in bed coverings.

He set her down, pulling up the blanket to examine it, then the pillow. He was completely distracted. She supposed she should at least be relieved that he approved. He flicked the edge of the blanket, mesmerized by the rainbow play of light as the fabric undulated.

The pause in their affections should have been off-putting, but it was hard to hold his unadulterated enthusiasm against him.

Before she had a chance to call him back, he glanced at the rest of the furniture, his gaze falling on a low shelf holding her stuffed animals. Okay, now she really was embarrassed. Crowded together on display were her Algorian mammoth, tribble, a mythological Terran dragon, and a curly-haired Ferdoran bear.

“Oh, look at this.” Bashir walked around the bed and kneeled on the floor to get a better look. He smiled back at her. “Special friends?”

“Um, well, keepsakes. They remind me of…places that I’ve been. They’re just, you know, cute to have around…”

His eyes danced. “Do you ever sleep with them?”

Seeing as he wasn’t making fun of her, she opted for honesty. “Yes, sometimes.” She shrugged. “I travel a lot, and… sometimes I get lonely. I don’t like sleeping alone.”

He accepted the segue and lifted gracefully off the floor. Standing in front of her, he put one hand on her arm, and the other under her chin. She felt heat returning to her core and curling up deliciously between her legs. His skin was so tan and smooth, his eyes liquid olive brown. “You don’t have to sleep alone tonight.” It wasn’t the smoothest line, but who was she to turn down a face like that?

They made their way to the bed and embraced, lips searching and opening, colliding and retreating as their breaths mingled. Julian reached his hand around Mira’s back and deftly undid the clasp to her bra. _Either he has quite a bit of experience with that or he’s incredibly lucky,_ she smiled to herself. _Mmm, definitely experience._ She moaned as his palm rubbed under her breast, his thumb flicking the nipple. Frustrated and wanting more, she tried once again to find her way into his uniform.

He pulled away and stood to remove it himself. She watched hungrily as he peeled off piece by piece, with a sexy smile as he worked. _A bit of an exhibitionist._ Many of her lovers had been rather shy about their bodies, so this was a welcome change in events. He was much skinnier than she had expected, his arms and chest long and lanky, but there was a hidden strength underneath, a steel and control she hadn’t expected. The impression was even more attractive than the frame, and she longed to pull it to her and press against his hardness.

She removed her pants as he removed his, so that all they had left was their underwear. Julian moved back to the bed, and Mira scooted up so that there was room to lie back and under him. He braced himself over her, and she could feel the heat washing over her and smell his arousal. It was sweet and spicy, hinting of a healthy diet and excellent hygiene. Thank goodness.

Julian’s legs were on top of hers, and he slowly, slowly lowered his body down. Thighs, waist, stomach, chest. He ground down and against her, and she raised her hips to rub his prick against her. He closed his eyes and moaned, then brought his mouth to cover hers, and she wrapped her arms around him, running her hands up and down his back, feeling the ripple of muscles. She raked her nails gently along his spine and he gasped against her lips, his hips thrusting against hers. She wrapped her legs around him, craving more stimulation against her clit.

They moved in synchrony as his mouth worked its way down her chin to her neck, sucking and licking, leaving a cool trail down to his hot tongue. He leaned on one elbow, but the other hand was free to massage her chest, making little circles around her areola before flicking the tip lightly. She breathed in sharply and arched her back, silently begging for more. He obliged, sliding down her body, kissing past her sternum and stopping to suckle, taking her into his mouth. His tongue brushed back and forth, and she felt spikes of fire shoot along her nerves straight from there to between her legs. He took her between his teeth, giving an experimental nibble, and her nails dug into his shoulder blades.

He worked his way back up to her neck, then her ear. “What do you want, love?” he murmured. His hand slid between their bodies, and under the fabric of her briefs. His fingers found her nub and rolled it back and forth. “Hmmm?”

Her mouth was dry from panting. She swallowed, then licked her lips. “I want you.” She really wanted to feel his mouth where his fingers were, to see his head between her legs, his eyes staring into hers as he licked up and down…But she also just wanted him inside her. Right now.

They hungrily began to devour one another as hands roved up and down, grabbing, dragging, caressing, before moving south to pull off their undergarments. He settled between her thighs and took a moment to tenderly brush some hair from her face. She could feel his tip at her entrance, and squeezed her eyes shut in pleasure. He ran his thumb along her jaw. “Mira?” She opened her eyes to see a question in his. “Are you sure?” Despite her impatience, she was charmed by his insistence of consent.

“Yes, please Julian.” He pressed in, slowly sheathing himself in her tight heat. “Oh…oh yes,” she breathed. Not only could she feel him filling her, but she could sense his desire, even his wish to please her. She’d expected him to be something of a selfish lover, but his thoughts were more on her comfort that his own. She squeezed her muscles around him, and he gasped.

“Fuck!” She smiled; she could make sure he enjoyed himself as well. He kissed her greedily and she repeated the gesture. He groaned into her mouth, then rested his cheek against hers. She loved the feel of skin on skin and wriggled in gratification. He withdrew slightly, and she tightened her muscles again as he pressed back in. The sensation thrummed in her sex, and grew stronger as he began to move faster.

Soon, they established a rhythm, her heels bouncing against his back as they both gasped for air. They remained cheek to cheek, breathing heavily into each other’s ears. She grabbed at the back of his head, wrapping her fingers in his hair. As their movements grew sloppy with fervor, she wrapped her arms around his back, her hands gripping his shoulders. Her breaths were louder now, high-pitched as the pounding between her legs pulsed. A tingling started in her toes, and then it was _there_ and her nails were biting into his skin and she was crying out. Julian pumped faster and buried his face in her hair. “Oh! Mira!” She could feel him tighten in spasm as he came inside her, prolonging her own climax a few seconds longer.

He collapsed against her. They both breathed heavily for a minute, finding their way back to earth. He slid off of her and to the side. She rolled with him, and they rearranged until he was on his back and she was tucked up against him, her shoulder under his arm and head on his chest. It was nice that he wasn’t too muscular, actually, because she could comfortably rest this way without getting a crick in her neck.

“Mmm. That was nice,” she said, resting her hand on his pec. He brought up a hand and put it on top of hers, patting it. He squeezed and nodded in agreement, which turned more into a nuzzle on the top of her head. Oh good, he was a snuggler. She wriggled again, this time in contentment.

“Would you like me to stay a bit? So you don’t have to sleep alone? I’ll need to leave early for my shift, but I can be here for…*yawn* for now.” He really was very sweet. Mira hoped this wouldn’t be a one-night-stand. She’d had a much better time than she’d expected. Julian was fun to talk to, exceptionally intelligent, sexy, and generous in bed.

She kissed him next to his chin and nestled back down. “That’d be lovely.” Just as she began to drift off, she felt his hand tweak her arm.

“I have a stuffed animal too,” he whispered.


	3. Arboretum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira meets a gardening tailor

Mira got on the console to check the delivery status of her biological luggage. It looked as if her items had been examined and declared free of contamination…and the paperwork had gone through for the special dispensation of having “pets.” It was a good thing Deep Space Nine was technically Bajoran and not an official Federation outpost; this most likely would not have been allowed otherwise. One final notification said that they would arrive in 5 days. She hoped their habitats hadn’t been damaged.

Next was a message from Professor O’Brien that her first absence would be in two weeks, and that they should meet to discuss the lessons during the replacement.

The console bleeped as another message came in. It was from Major Kira. Mira jerked back in her seat. What could the Major want from her? She tapped on the link. Apparently what she wanted was a meeting to discuss if she could help the Major with a “little project.” That sounded appealing. Seeing as she had experience with dozens of little projects over the years, she felt certain that helping the station’s second-in-command would be an exciting and maybe even challenging endeavor. The invitation was for the next morning. She accepted.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

The arboretum wasn’t nearly as big as others she’d seen before. But it was still pleasant. There were enough trees to give the illusion of a sparse forest, if an eclectic one. A weeping willow leaned next to a tree with spiky leaves on purple-tipped branches, which towered over a large shrub that waved as if a breeze were blowing through. There was really only one main path, although there were a few offshoots with dead ends that provided places to stop and appreciate the scenery. Or take advantage of a little privacy.

Mira noticed someone off in one corner digging away, with a plant next to them, likely waiting to be placed. The gardener had black straight hair and broad shoulders, but she couldn’t see much else. She decided to leave them in their solitude and peruse the rest of the paths first. She began a leisurely stroll but found herself repeatedly distracted by this or that plant. After half an hour she’d only progressed 15 meters or so. With no current obligations, it wasn’t as if she was in a hurry, she reminded herself.

Lacking the birds and sundry wildlife she was used to in other botanical habitats and greenhouses, the space was unnaturally quiet. She found herself making her way toward the only other person to be found. They were dressed in nicer clothes than she would expect a gardener to wear, although still lightly splattered in mud. They were also noticeably not human. Gray skin with ridges. A Cardassian? She hadn’t seen anything about a Cardassian employed by Deep Space Nine in her research. They (he?) were kneeling on a pad but leaning into the soil, digging a deep hole. She saw that he wore no gloves, but realized it made sense, seeing how padded his hands were. And they ended with thick nails, almost claws.

He stopped and lifted his head, scenting the air with the tip of his tongue, like a snake. He turned with a look of mild surprise, his eyebrows raised almost comically. He smiled politely. “My, you are nearly as quiet as a regnar, sneaking up like that. Are you in need of assistance?”

Mira hated feeling embarrassed, but apologized for the sixty-somethingth time in her life. “I’m sorry. I don’t try to walk so quietly, it just happens. I’m always startling someone.”

His smile morphed to something more friendly. “No need to apologize. Stealth is an admirable skill.”

“What’s a regnar?” Mira asked. It sounded like something large and horned, like a rhinoceros. Not stealthy at all.

“Oh, it’s a small lizard native to my planet—Cardassia, that is—who live in the sand and rocks and are difficult to find except by those with exceptional skill.” She assumed he must be one of those select few. “I had one for a pet as a child.” She’d been correct.

The Cardassian looked down at his hands and brushed them together, but looked dissatisfied by the results. He gave a half-bow. “You may call me Garak. I’d greet you properly, but…” He held his muddy hands out, palms up.

Mira smiled. “Nice to meet you. I’m Palmira.” She didn’t normally give her whole first name, but this Mr. Garak seemed like a gentleman. The tunic covering his clothes and the dirt on his knees reminded him of one of her neighbors back home, always puttering away in the yard, but with spectacular results. She’d adored walking around his house, breathing in the Talusian roses and admiring the 8 different varieties of coniferous bonsais. “Do you work here?” Keiko hadn’t mentioned any particular caretakers for the arboretum.

Mr. Garak stood a little straighter. “Actually, I own a tailoring shop on the Promenade. Working with plants is…something of a hobby of mine.”

“Me too!” Mira quipped. “I absolutely love plants. I talked to Professor O’Brien about maybe adding a few of my own to this collection.” She realized that she hadn’t shown any interest in the Cardassian’s statement about owning a shop. “I’m new here. Which shop is yours?”

The tailor smiled slyly. “Oh, I’m sure you can figure it out. The next time you’re over there, why don’t you come see me?”

Mira liked a challenge, even if it was a small one. There probably weren’t that many clothing stores on the station, seeing as almost everyone used replicators. She took a new look at his outfit. It _was_ very nice. Even the apron was deep green with a silver criss-cross pattern. “Did you make” she gestured to his ensemble “all that?”

He beamed at her. “Why yes I did. Designing clothing is another hobby of mine.” His gaze was benign, his eyes a pale blue, which she didn’t think was usual for Cardassians. She filed it away for later review. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t sensed a single thing from the man in front of her. He was completely closed off. His stance was relaxed and casual. He tilted his head, an endearing affectation, although now she felt less inclined to accept it.

He seemed to be aware of her change. He cleared his throat and brushed at his clothes absently. “If you’ll excuse me, my dear, I really must get this into the ground. Its roots are quite delicate.”

“Oh yeah, okay. I’m sorry,” she apologized again.

He was already turning away and kneeling. “Think nothing of it.”

Mira traced her steps back in the other direction. Maybe she’d look for his shop tomorrow. “Mr. Garak,” she reminded herself quietly. She was terrible with names. She repeated it under breath a couple more times as she continued exploring.

There was a red bush with white flowers that caught her eye. The blooms were drooping down as if whatever pollinated them would come up from the ground. The leaves looked both glossy and fuzzy. Intrigued, she reached out to touch one. A gray hand reached out and grabbed her arm.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” Mr. Garak’s voice warned. She froze, stymied by where in the world he had come from, how and why he had followed here so silently, and how fast he’d moved. They lowered their hands, his lingering for a second longer than necessary. She turned to look at her rescuer.

“The Xanthusa bush is covered in a toxin that inflames the skin of most species. You’d find it highly uncomfortable,” he said kindly. He was standing much closer than he had been before, carelessly invading her personal space. A closer look let her take in the intricate ridging around his eyes, and sweeping down from his ears.

Before she could be accused of staring, she stepped back. “Thank you. I’m surprised they have something like that right here where visitors could be put in danger. There should be a sign or something.”

One side of Garak’s mouth twitched. “There is.” Indeed there was. A yellow sign with black words and a warning symbol on it. She felt a blush rise up her neck and to her cheeks. Oops.

“Well, thank you again.” She tried to think of a graceful exit. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Garak. I’ll look for your shop.”

He nodded his head cordially. “The pleasure was all mine, Palmira.”

It wasn’t until she was nearly back home that she realized she hadn’t asked why he had been so near her at their second encounter.


	4. Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People-watching at Quarks leads to more

Mira paced the living space. She was more restless than usual, and was chagrined to realize that it was probably the result of an ill-advised raktajino she consumed after lunch. She wasn’t going to get any sleep; might as well go out. There weren’t a lot of places open at this time of night on the station, which pretty much left Quark’s. Well, better make the most of it. She pulled some tight black pants out of her closet and settled on a silvery tank top. After a quick application of lipstick and mascara, she declared herself fit for public consumption and made her way to the bar.

The constable must have been occupied, because the music was much louder than usual. It wasn’t her favorite, something Bolian, she thought. The Dabo tables were at maximum occupancy and in full-swing. She made her way around the exterior and to the upper level, where she found a table for two overlooking the balcony. Perfect.

Scanning the crowd, she looked for familiar faces. Not that she was likely to find any, having been around for so short a time. She watched the patrons as their mini-dramas unfolded below. Lovers quarrels, drunken arguments, illicit gambling, toasts and cheers. For all the noise and being on the edge of civilized space, the atmosphere was decidedly tame and genial. There were no fights or unwanted aggressive advances, no rancor. She relaxed and waited for a waiter to notice her.

As her eyes scanned the bar, they came to rest on someone she _was_ acquainted with, Dr. Bashir. He was having a spirited conversation with a curly-haired, flushed man with a round face. They both gesticulated in an animated fashion, speaking loudly over the din and laughing occasionally. His friend looked familiar, likely one of the senior staff, but she couldn’t remember his name. O’Leery?

Down a bit from them was a Lurian male, who peered up from his drink to study the crowd. His gaze traveled up to the balcony and he nodded at Mira. She turned away, not wanting to encourage him. She’d met one other Lurian, and he pursued anything and anybody, and if you allowed him to start a conversation, he’d never stop. On the chance that this fellow was the same, she was going to avoid him like the plague.

A brunette Bajoran in a long, tight dress leaned over the bar near Julian, and he turned on his stool to look her up and down. Quark took her order, but she remained a second to speak with the doctor. He leaned in suggestively and didn’t even try to hide the peek he took at her cleavage. Mira wondered if he was inebriated or always this way. It might be worth it to observe him in his natural habitat, so to speak. The woman whispered something in his ear, then walked away, swaying her hips in an exaggerated motion. Mira admired the view and noticed that several others did as well.

A Ferengi appeared at her table, and Mira paused. She had no idea what they served here. “Do you have anything sour?” An affirmative nod. “Um…sour and sweet? Maybe strawberry or similarly fruity?”

“How about a Risan Berry Blast?”

They had those here? “That’ll do. Heavy on the berry, light on the blast.” He disappeared.

She crossed her legs and leaned back in the chair. She should have brought something to do, or at least a padd. People-watching was fine, though. She wasn’t in the mood for a lot of conversation; the vigor of the party in full swing downstairs was enough to take the edge off of her nervous energy. Her eyes swept back to the seat of the CMO, only to find him gone. But she picked him back up at the edge of the bar, playing darts with the Irishman. When his turn was up, he leaned casually against a column, looking for all the world (station?) like a debonair playboy from some cheesy holoplay. He was also blatantly checking out the comely raven-haired Trill male who had taken his place at the bar. What a shameless flirt! Mira felt amused. Maybe she should have been watching out for him instead of the Lurian. But no, Bashir was a fair site more handsome in her books.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” a feminine voice asked. Mira turned to see a young woman with long, curly blonde (clearly dyed) hair with a little too much makeup around the eyes under her lightly-ridged forehead.

“Um no,” she replied, hoping the other would just take the seat and move it to another table. But instead, she sank down and put her hand out.

“Felanna,” she said simply.

“Mira, hi.” She took the other’s hand and shook, dismayed to feel a loose grip.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the girl asked.

Mira held back a sigh. “No thanks, I have one coming already.” She turned back to her crowd-watching, hoping to discourage further conversation. It wasn’t that Felanna was unattractive, she just wasn’t her type. Now, if she’d been tall and dark brunette, with just the right amount of muscles, maybe with high heels and a wicked smile… _Take your head out of the gutter._ Dwelling on missed opportunities wasn’t going to do any good.

The Chief Engineer (what _was_ his name?) was taking his turn at darts, and Dr. Bashir now had _two_ females leaning on him, one on each side. His eyes were wide with excitement over his good fortune, like he couldn’t believe it. One of them moved some hair behind his ear and traced his face, saying something undoubtedly profound and clever. Whatever it was, though, seemed to spur the other woman to smack her hand away from him. Soon, the two were bickering and had forgotten all about the man between them. They both stalked off, continuing their argument as they exited the scene. Mira tried not to chuckle. To her utter astonishment, Julian directly her way, meeting her eyes and… _winked_.

Had he been aware of her scrutiny? How long? Well, shit. Maybe it was time make a hasty retreat and hit the hay. But just then, the waiter returned with her beverage.

“Oh, that looks delicious!” Felanna chirped, her eyes round.

Mira shook her head and pushed it over. “Here, you can have it. I just remembered I have to take care of something.”

As she left the bar, the music switched tempo and genre. It was something catchy and boisterous. Normally, Mira avoided anything popular and formulaic, but she actually knew this song and actually liked it. She hurried back in to join a group of dancers who had already gathered. More joined as they cleared tables out to make space.

The night began to pass more quickly after that. Several more energetic songs came on, and she found that most of them were easy to get the hang of. She found several dancing partners, switching off when she or they felt the need. Someone had brought her a shot that she downed before thinking, and then tried to figure out what to do with the glass, seeing as the crowd was so tight she wasn’t sure she could make it to the bar.

Another dancer came up and replaced her empty glass with a tube of something glowing and blue. She’d had one of these before and looked for someone to share it with. A gentleman with long, wavy brown hair and stubble that was more charming than scruffy sauntered over. He took the tube and held it up in the air, letting it pour down into her open mouth. The cool, tart flavor tingled over her tongue and lips before dissipating, leaving almost no liquid to trail down her throat. He leaned against her and licked a drop off her lips, laughing. The music switched to a couple’s dance, more erotic than romantic. He moved behind her and took her hips, pulling her up against his chest. Yes, this was a dance she _definitely_ knew. They swayed side to side, dipping occasionally as the song demanded. She placed her hands over his, and when the twirl came, he pulled one hand up and lifted it over her head. She spun once, twice, and—

Found herself chest to chest with Julian. Without hesitation, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his, the heat intense as he replied in kind. He wove one arm around her shoulders, the other balancing his drink. She pried it out of his hand, looking at him from half-closed eyes as she took a sip, then a deeper drink. It was definitely not synthale, and that was enough.

“Hey!” he said jovially. He grabbed the glass and knocked the rest back, before leaning over and depositing it on the nearest table, ignoring the fact that it was occupied.

After that, Mira’s memory became a little hazy, because the next thing she knew, they were back in her room and on the couch, making out like teenagers. At some point they lost their shirts and found themselves leaning dangerously over the arm of the couch, her on top of him, his hand gripping the back of the seat to keep them from tumbling off. And then he was toppling her over on her back as he pulled down her pants, cursing quietly at how stubbornly they clung to her legs. She remembered bits and pieces: the taste of the skin between his shoulder blades, his hand squeezing her ass as he moaned, dragging a pillow to the floor to avoid rug burn.

Mira woke some time later, with a dry mouth and sore thighs. Maybe she wasn’t quite as flexible as she used to be. She was wedged against the couch, with Julian half on top of her and half under the coffee table. It had been far too long since she’d had drunken sex. Amused, she dragged at Julian and called his name until he roused, and they made their way to the refresher and bed. He had a tuft of hair sticking straight up. She tried to flatten it down to no avail. They wrapped themselves up in the pillows, blankets, and each other and passed back out.


	5. Best Face Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira is offered the chance to help both Major Kira and Mister Garak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To see the Deep Space Nine banner/flag, visit here:  
> http://fav.me/ddwcau9

The morning of her meeting, Mira woke with a faint sense of trepidation in her gut. Despite having traveled to numerous places of note, she had never really come in contact with those in command of said places. This summons felt a little like being called to the principal’s office. And compounded on that was worry about whether or not the main staff was aware that she’d been banging their Chief Medical Officer.

A nice alcoholic beverage to soothe the nerves sounded tempting, but she settled on caffeine instead. She had just enough time to program chai lattes into her replicator and consume one before her appointment with the Major. Something to stimulate the creative juices before discussing whatever project Kira had in mind.

An hour later she found herself standing in Ops with the realization that no meeting location had been specified. She saw the Chief Engineer at a station, but he looked to be completely immersed and not at all in a pleasant mood. Damnit, what was his name? Murphy? Patrick? No, it definitely had an “O” in it. O’Malley?

An ensign approached. “Can I help you? Civilians aren’t supposed to be up here.”

Past the lump in her throat, Mira replied, “I’m looking for Major Kira. We have a meeting.”

The ensign brightened. “Oh! She’s in her office. I’ll take you there.”

Once there, the doors parted to show a harried woman with short, dark red hair arguing with a smirking Cardassian on a wall screen. Mira was worried about having interrupted, but at that moment the Major vindictively poked at a symbol that shut the screen off, hanging up on the man at the other end.

She whirled around, and her face transformed from angry to welcoming. “Hello! Come on in. Thank you, Ensign Harris, I’ll take it from here.” She gestured to a seat on the guest side of her console. They sat down, and Kira folded her hands on the surface in front of her. “So, I’m guessing you’re wondering why I asked you here.” Mira nodded. “Here’s the deal. As the liason between Deep Space Nine and Bajor, I receive all kinds of diplomatic requests. The most recent one is a little outside of my purview, though.” She pressed her lips together. “We Bajorans love our flags. The Embassy on Bajor wants to put up a flag for the station…only we don’t have a flag. Or a symbol. Well, the Cardassians had an emblem for Terok Nor, but you can see how we don’t want to use that. I’ve recently seen some of your work from the journals you were in, so I was wondering if you could help me come up with something.”

Mira was stunned. This was completely unexpected, but also an amazing honor. If received well, her creation could be in existence for centuries! The prospect was daunting, but not an opportunity she could pass up. “What type of flag were you thinking? Colors and symbols, or abstract representation? What message would you like it to convey?”

The Major shook her head and put her hands up. “I haven’t the faintest idea! I’m no artist, and believe me, I’ve tried being one.”

Several ideas were already floating around inside her head. “Do you have a screen I could use? I’ll try to pitch a couple ideas and you can let me know if any of them might work.” Kira gestured to the wall where she’d been having her heated discussion. A quick search function found a low-level program meant to insert shapes into diagrams and maps. It wasn’t meant to be an art platform, but it’d do. She stared at the white space, and selected a black shape. Her mind’s eye was looking at the station from space as she started with a right-facing crescent and added a mirror of it of the other side. In between them was a longer, thinner sweep. She added a stretched, flat oval with an empty center connecting the middle of the three shapes, and a solid oval inside of that. She paused, considering the black arcs on the white background.

“By the Prophets, that’s perfect!” Kira exclaimed. Mira wasn’t finished yet; she had at least three different ideas she’d like to fool around with, but the Bajoran standing next to her was adamant. “Don’t do a thing to that, I love it! It looks like Deep Space Nine, but also like a gateway…like the wormhole, but kind of like an eye, too. And even better, the colors really stand out, you know? All of our flags are so bright, all red and yellow or purple and blue, but this one is so _fierce_.” She made a little punch in the air. “This is a symbol that would demand a little respect.” She grabbed Mira’s hands in both of hers. “Thank you, thank you, I can’t wait to show this to Captain Sisko and the Council of Ministers.”

Mira was in awe that this touch of immortality had come so easily. She hadn’t spent more than two minutes on the design. “If you don’t mind me asking, what made you think of asking me to do this? I mean, how did you hear of me?”

Kira laughed and released her grip. “It was the funniest thing. Your name came up twice in one hour. Dr. Bashir came in the other day going on about a new member of the station with _three different races running in her veins!”_ she said this in a faux-English accent, “and later on, Professor O’Brien mentioned in passing how the new teacher had been all over the quadrant and could probably be an asset to the station. The Prophets have a saying: A name spoken a second time when the first is still on the wind is no coincidence. So I looked you up, saw your experience. And here we are!”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

When Mira got back to the habitat ring, she was buzzing, and it wasn’t from the chai. She still couldn’t believe it; she’d just invented a symbol to represent Deep Space Nine. It was going to be hanging on Bajor, and who knew, maybe it’d be officially recognized by Starfleet and the Federation, too!

In her room, she walked to the windows and looked out. But the white pinpricks on the black background didn’t calm her. In a moment of poignancy, she reflected on how lonely space could be. As much as she enjoyed the solitude of her own living space, at the moment she needed some company.

She remembered Mr. Garak from the Arboretum. Considering he was the only Cardassian onboard, he might well be lonely much of the time. She wondered why he was there; weren’t the Cardassians on poor terms with both the Bajorans and the Federation? Certainly relations were strained. Whatever the reason, he’d seemed plenty friendly, and had extended an invitation.

Once on the Promenade, it was simple enough to identify the shop labeled as Garak’s Clothiers. What a fancy name. She stepped inside to find the interior dimmer than expected, and a good sight warmer, too. The proprietor himself was standing at a counter, taking notes on a large padd. When he looked to see who entered, she caught a sense of surprise; he hadn’t expected to see her again. “Ah! Ms. Palmira. How very nice of you to grace my humble place of commerce. Welcome, welcome. I am with a customer right now, but please, feel free to browse and I will join your shortly.” He shuffled off to the back of the store where a mother and child waited by a changing room.

Mira found herself both delighted and dismayed. The clothing was spectacular. There were modern and traditional designs from multiple cultures, and they ranged from simply handsome to outright stunning. Mr. Garak was truly as master of his craft. But superb craftmanship also meant prices far beyond anything she would be able to afford. Most of her work had rewarded her with prestige more than currency. Maybe she could work out some kind of compensation from Major Kira or Captain Sisko for her help with the banner design.

She saw some scarves on the wall that might be affordable, but her eye was caught by a dress. It was medium-length and black, but there were tiny sparkles in it, too small for her to identify what they made of. She lifted it partially away from the rack, admiring the way the light reflected off of different patches. She was normally drawn to blues and greens, but she knew that darker colors were flattering on her figure, and black gave the impression of sleek elegance. It vaguely reminded her of the view outside her window.

“If you approve of that gown, I could bring out a few that would suit you even better.”

Mira twitched, but was proud of herself for not actually jumping at the comment. He’d managed to sneak up on her, which wasn’t something most people were able to do. She rotated, only to find herself nearly chest-to-chest with the tailor. What was it with him and personal space? Was it a Cardassian thing? She stepped aside to put the dress between them.

“What may I help you with, my dear?” he asked solicitously. “Are you preparing for a special event? Perhaps a social gathering or a date?” He had his hands behind his back, but they were hardly necessary, as his voice was perfectly capable of touching the recipient of his attention.

“Oh, um..” she stammered, hating how flustered she felt. “I was just…browsing, I guess.” She glanced around. “You have a very nice shop,” she added lamely.

“Why thank you! I do try. Everything here is at your disposal.” He swung his arm out theatrically. “Just show me whatever you like, and I can customize it to _perfectly_ match your needs. And if you find something that would like to try on, you may disrobe in the room behind the curtain.” He had no right to make such an innocuous statement sound like a proposition. “Would you like to make a few selections, or begin with the one in your hand, and I can make a few suggestions, and bring them to you?”

She was desperately curious what types of recommendations he had, but she’d been sweet-talked by too many salesmen before and knew that this was a purchase she could not be persuaded to make.

“Your clothing is wonderful, it really is, but I don’t think I can buy any. Well, not right now. I haven’t started working yet, so my funds are…” _Nonexistent,_ she thought.

“Yes, of course. I see.” Garak nodded. He turned to admire a casual dark suit on a mannequin. He brushed off some imaginary dust while pretending to consider something. “I understand all too well the pressures of gathering a steady income. When the Bajorans aren’t having a festival, it can be dreadfully slow for me.” He fiddled with a seam. “If only there was some way for me to showcase my merchandise beyond my window display. Maybe if the residents of the station could see how an outfit looks and moves on an actual person, and that person were to tell them where they could find one of their own…” He held up another dress, swishing it to and fro. “Why, if someone were to… _model_ some of my creations, I may even be inclined to let them keep those items for a heavily discounted price.” He looked at Mira innocently. “Would you happened to be acquainted with anyone who could help out a desperate tailor?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Kira was talking to Dukat. No, they were not having phone sex. He doesn’t seem to understand that forcing someone into bickering is not the same as amicable debate. Which I think says all you really need to know about him. But if you love to hate him (as I do) he will make another appearance later.


	6. Model Citizen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira returns to Garak's Clothiers

Garak had proposed that he would gather several ensembles that he would like Mira to model, and she’d return when she had some free time for fittings. He probably expected her to come back in a week or so, but she really wasn’t all that busy yet, other than another lunch with Professor O’Brien. She waited two days, just in case he needed more than twenty-six hours to make his selections.

When she returned to Garak’s Clothiers, the change in atmosphere was significant. The climate of the store hadn’t changed, but the angry aggression and snide derision had not been present last time. She could tell that the emotions weren’t coming from the tailor, and as she entered, it was clear that a small group of Bajorans was the source.

Two males were flinging disparaging remarks at Mr. Garak, and their female companion was picking up clothing, sneering at the pieces, and dropping them on the floor. To his credit, the proprietor was unflappable. He replied to every remark with an even tone, and had the most polite way of saying “fuck off” she’d ever heard. Even so, she could sense flickers of misery, irritation, and resentment from his position.

Mira approached the counter, drawing the attention of the antagonists. One of the men spoke to her. “I hope you’re not looking for anything of _quality_ here.” He motioned to his friends. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Garak’s shoulders loosened fractionally. The face he turned to her was a bland mask, his eyes flat. But he made the effort to smile, even if it didn’t reach his eyes. “Well met, my dear. Have you come to discuss our arrangement?” Without waiting for a response, he gestured for her to follow and disappeared into a storeroom. Unsure of how close to stay with him, she paused at the changing area.

He returned with a pile of garments draped over his arm. From what she could see, there were a few dresses of varying lengths, a jacket, some shirts, a pair of pants. None of them were particularly ornate. She was a little disappointed, but beggars can’t be choosers. And besides, she was going to be parading around in hand-made outfits of higher quality than anything produced by a replicator.

“Let’s begin with something simple and understated. I have a suit here that should require minimal modifications to accommodate your figure.” He set down the heap delicately on a shelf, separating out the pants, jacket, and a shirt. His manner was greatly subdued compared to their last meetings. Mira found herself feeling bad for him. She was sure that the previous customers had just been there to pester the man.

As she took the proffered garments, she tried to give him a warm smile to let him know that not everyone despised him. “Thank you. These are lovely.” She was pleased to find that they fit her nicely, too. The jacket hugged her waist, and the pants were snug but not restrictive, if a bit long. The tailor took a few quick measurements and notes for alterations. There were no compliments or flirty remarks. He gave her a casual but appealing creamy dress with a wide neckline to try next.

Another patron entered the store. “Garak! Do you have a moment? I seem to have ripped a seam.” Mira peeked out to see Dr. Bashir briskly striding through the store. He had a hand modestly covering the hip of his uniform.

“Doctor! Those Starfleet uniforms are quite dreadful; I’m not surprised,” Garak tutted. He led the younger man to the back of the store and situated him in the room next to Mira’s. “I’m with another customer at the moment; I’ll be right back.” She heard him step over to her. She’d only doffed the jacket, but she still held the curtain close as she peeked her head out.

”It’s okay. You can take care of him and I’ll wait.”

He nodded in gratitude and returned to Bashir.

She made short work of removing her clothes and putting on the dress while trying to eavesdrop on the conversation next door. Unfortunately, she couldn’t make out any words. Still, the tones of the two speakers sounded good-natured. She was glad that someone else was friendly with the tailor as well.

She grew a little impatient as their conversation drew on. How long did it take to repair a seam? And if Julian had to take off the garment to get it fixed, wouldn’t Garak have to leave first? A little yelp and embarrassed laugh sounded through the wall. Mira pictured Garak mending the seam on Bashir’s person. Maybe the doctor was ticklish.

Only a minute later, everything seemed to be in order and Mr. Garak was back. Mira opened the curtain and made a little curtsy with the dress. She noticed instantly that the man in front of her was much less tense now. The earlier aloofness had disappeared. He studied here with a critical but appraising eye, from shoulders to knees and back up again. When his eyes met hers, he nodded.

“Yes, this one will do nicely. Especially if you could put your hair up. A Cardassian coif would be ideal, although some simple braids wrapped around the crown might be less time-consuming. Do you have the time now to arrange your hair so we can see the effect? I have some pins and clips.”

“I do have the time, but…I don’t know how to do up my hair.” She shrugged. “I usually just tie it back.”

Garak tsked. “Would you allow me to try? I really think the gown would be best complimented with your shoulders and neck on display.”

Mira was delighted. She’d always been interested in the hairstyles she’d seen on others but unable to copy them. And she never remained in one place long enough to develop close relationships that would leave her comfortable to ask for help. “Sure! Maybe you can teach me something.”

The tailor’s expression became inscrutable. He produced a brush and stepped forward, asking silent permission to enter the room with her. Flushed, she stepped aside. He placed himself behind her so that they were both facing the mirror. Her stomach quivered as he stood close behind her back. He lifted her hair, sweeping it away from her ears. The sensation was exquisite; having her hair played with was one of her weaknesses. She tried not to sigh and lean into him.

“For a human, you do have something of a Cardassian physique. Small waist, wide shoulders,” swimmer’s shoulders, she’d heard them described, “a long neck…you do have a lovely neck.” From the way he was staring, she suddenly wondered if he was about to bite it, like a vampire from one of those ancient Terran myths. His eyes flicked up, meeting hers in the mirror. His hand tightened reflexively in her hair, and she tried to stifle a gasp. The dressing room closed in around them until it was five times smaller and the air harder to breathe.

He blinked, slow and reptilian, and it was akin to being dunked into an icy pond. The walls were back in place around him, and he was plaiting and poking her hair with pins as if nothing had happened. Nothing _had_ happened, she told herself. It was all in her imagination, surely.

After that, all further interactions remained detached and courteous. The next hour slid by as she tried on 2 more dresses, a few shirt/pants combinations, and a tunic. No further attempts were made to rearrange her hair.

As they wrapped up the affair, Mr. Garak began boxing up a dress that hadn’t needed any changes, the first one for her to wear in public. He placed it on the main counter. “I do hope that I did not offend you, my dear. I know that not everyone has a positive opinion of my people and being compared to them may not be well-received.” He allowed just a little of his true dismay to show.

Mira’s heart ached for him. She’d been lonely often, but she’d always been surrounded by other humans. How would it feel to be a sole human among aliens, many of which held you in contempt? She wondered again why he chose to stay on the station. Tentatively, she reached out and touched his hand. “No, I appreciated the compliment. I knew you meant well.”

He withdrew his hand. Looking away, he ventured, “Have you heard of the Venturynal plant?”

Startled by the change in topic, she mutely shook her head.

“It is singularly beautiful. And useful. It’s origins are unknown, but it has become popular on Bajor and Cardassia, because it preys on several species of voles. I happen to have come into possession of two specimens and was granted permission to plant them in the arboretum.” He handed her the box containing her dress. “They are somewhat difficult plants to relocate. Another set of helping hands would not be remiss. Would you care to join me?”

She could hardly turn that down. Mira wanted to become more familiar with the greenhouse, was excited about a chance to work with an alien carnivorous plant, and as for the company… well, that might be something worth exploring.


	7. Flora and Fauna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alien animals, alien plants, and sensual gardening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andy Robinson said that he played Garak as being pansexual and thought of him as having a "poetic soul," so I'm incorporating that into much of this story.

The door chime warbled. Mira let in the cargo delivery workers carrying her supplies. She directed them where to place the cages and sundry associated items. She was examining everything before they even left.

The first was her Vulcan egg-eating snake, Tolek. He was dangerously susceptible to cold temperatures, so she had worried about his extended journeys through space. She opened the lid on his vivarium, pleased to see that the ecosystem was unharmed. She lifted a hatch on the cave habitat and lifted him out. He wasn’t a large snake—less than one meter long—but he was handsome: a reddish-brown body with darker brown speckles to camouflage with the desert sands of his home. The was a red chevron on his head. His eyes were yellow with wide pupils for seeing in the dark, much like any other egg-eating reptile found on countless planets. Relieved that he was in good health, she set him back in the tank and set to work rigging the system that managed his UVA and UVB lights.

The other animal was in a wire cage. As soon as she opened the door, it began to warble and coo, although she wasn’t sure how it knew she was there. Distant relatives of the tribble, gibbles didn’t have any eyes, ears, or nose to sense with. Still, it moved unerringly toward her hands. Many peoples found gibbles ugly. They were essentially an inside-out tribble: smooth skin on the outside and hair on the inside, with similar vocalizations and nesting habits. Lucky for them, though, they weren’t considered nearly as much of a pest due to their slower reproductive rate. Gib had been neutered as a precaution, though. Mira juggled it gently in her hands. She brought it up to her cheek, listening to the little joyful noises it released. She found most gibbles cosmetically unattractive, but Gib was a rare melanistic breed, a solid black color that made its velvety skin actually look like velvet.

She made sure both animals had enough to eat. Her next task was storing away their provisions. She might need to request a storage locker; her quarters were meant for one human, not a small menagerie, and her plants hadn’t even arrived yet!

And on that topic, she checked the chronometer. It was almost time to meet Mr. Garak in the arboretum.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Mira reached the enclosure twenty minutes early to find a corner for meditation. She hadn’t taken the time to clear her mind since arriving. She wound her way to the farthest back corner from the door, at the end of a trail and under a rainbow eucalyptus tree. Seated on the stone path, she took up a Bajoran chanting posture, but refrained from actually chanting. She focused on her respiration instead. Closed eyes. Relax the shoulders, breath in. Untense the spine, breathe out. Wiggle the fingers, breathe in, wiggle the toes, breathe out. Once she felt sufficiently calm, she began to extend her awareness. Some meditation involved a look inside, and some entailed becoming one with the environment around you; she felt more comfortable with the second. Maybe it was some quirk of her heritage, but Mira always felt that when she was on planet, she could sense the ground beneath her, the flow of water and minute lives in the soil. It was more difficult on a starship or space station. Most of what she sensed was mostly air currents, and even those were sterilized by the filtering system.

Listen to the whisper of leaves, breathe in, smell the petrichor of the loam, breathe out.

Another presence slowly seeped into her awareness. It was about 3 meters in front of her and definitely not plant life. But it was very still for a humanoid. She peeked out one eyelid to see the tailor also seated on the ground with his eyes closed. His hands were resting on his knees, his back straight, face slack, chest moving slowly and evenly. He smiled softly, then opened his eyes to meet her gaze. “Good morning, my dear. You do indeed perform a most excellent impression of the regnar. Are you ready to begin, or would you prefer a few more moments of peace?”

“No, I’m ready.” They both rose to their feet. She followed him to the opposite back corner, where two plants were waiting in their pots next to an area cleared of brush, their new home. The bushes stood about a meter tall each. Their stems were a dark blue-green, their leaves oval and a lighter shade of turquoise. Most of the branches terminated in a bud. She wondered what color the flowers would be.

“The Venturynal plant has a highly-specialized root system,” Garak lectured. “They can be found in nutrient-poor soils because of the roots’ ability to draw sustenance from animals. They spread through the soil and into the burrows of voles. Each of the main roots has a loop at the end that will tighten around whatever passes through: a leg, a tail, a neck. The animal is trapped there until it starves to death, at which point the smaller roots grow into the flesh and break it down.”

Mira was intrigued. The roots sounded like various fungal organisms she’d read up on. However… “Will they survive here? I’ve heard that pest control keeps a lid on the vole population most of the time.”

“And pest control is the one feeding my plants,” Garak explained. “Once a month they will provide me with a few specimens to bury beneath my shrubs. If successful, growing and propagating them could become a very lucrative endeavor. For now, though, we must move them from the pots and into the ground. They will require special care during the transplanting. I have a few tools in the storage room. Excuse me.”

Mira surreptitiously watched him leave before kneeling down at one of the containers and placing her hands on each side. It had been a while before she’d tried to get readings from a non-animal. She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing, extending her awareness out just slightly, then down her arms and through her palms and fingertips. She felt her way into the roots, then up the stem and into the explosion of leaves.

Unsure what to look for, she followed the flow of water through the xylem, or whatever the Cardassian equivalent was. There was a restlessness in the roots, which was to be expected. No pictures or alien emotions followed the sensations, though, and she sighed, disappointed. She remembered being about ten years old and touching a redbud tree back on Earth. The flashes of purple and awareness of sunlight had been exhilarating.

She sensed a psionic nudge behind her, the equivalent of *ahem.* She turned around to see Mr. Garak not far off, hands behind his back. He quirked an eyebrow. “You’re not human?”

Ah well. She straightened up. “I’m _mostly_ human. But I do have some Betazoid and Vulcan in my ancestry. The result is a bit of a jumble in my genetics. It’s given me some extrasensory abilities.” She turned the focus onto him. “But surely you can’t say you’re purely Cardassian, then, if you’ve picked up on it.”

“Oh, I assure you I am. I’m simply very observant of the circumstances and beings around me; I know how to identify the signs of someone utilizing senses beyond the ordinary. I have no powers of my own, although I am well-versed in maintaining control over my projections.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “It wouldn’t do to have my patrons listening in on my thoughts while I re-size their clothing.”

She found that hard to believe. Someone as blank as him had to have some serious training. He could block out _everything_. It was like talking to a particularly animated boulder. More than a little disquieting. All she had to go on were his postures and facial expressions, which were almost certainly calculated and not at all natural. Still, his mannerisms were very amiable, and he might have solid reasons for being so guarded. She’d met someone with a severe case of PTSD who had been counseled extensively to withhold their psychic bursts of panic and anger. Perhaps he wasn’t hiding anything, but rather protecting something.

As Garak arranged the tools on the ledge, he casually added, “You mentioned _abilities_. Can you do more than read minds?” His attention remained focused on the implements, but he was clearly interested in the answer.

“I can’t read minds. I just, kind of…sense emotions. And only the really strong ones.” Usually. “I also have an enhanced sense of smell and taste, which can be as much of a curse as a blessing. I can see a little more of the electromagnetic spectrum than most humans, slightly into ultraviolet. It’s one of the reasons I love deep purple flowers. They glow for me.”

“That is quite the collection of talents!” he exclaimed, finally looking up. “And all of that from just Betazoid and Vulcan relatives?”

_He sure is nosy,_ she thought. But his curiosity was flattering, too. “Like I said, it’s an accident of my DNA. Sometimes things just come together in new ways.” Like her skeleton, the traitorous bastard. But she left out the less-savory aspects of mixed-alien heredity. It put most people off, and usually left her feeling frustrated and depressed.

Garak quickly dug two holes. He warned that once freed from the pot, the roots of the Venturynal plant would become active. The lack of earth would trigger the mechanisms that sent them questing for animal flesh. Therefore, one handler would be wearing arm-length gloves while restraining the fibers. Because they tended to curl around the arms holding it, the plant would be likely to tip over, so a second handler was required to hold the plant upright as it was deposited in the soil.

True to form, as soon as Mira lifted the plant out of its container, the root tips began waving. Straightaway, Garak’s gloved hands reached out to tame and collect as many as he could. It seemed to be going well until they reached the low wall. The hole for the first plant was over an arm-length away, meaning that they were going to have to deposit the plant while leaning over. They moved closer to one another as the plant struggled in its search to feed. It began to tip to the right, in Mira’s direction, as the roots twisted up the tailor’s arms. She had to push against him now to straighten it out. It began tipping _away_ from them. Garak hurriedly shoved the root ball into the hole and took hold of the trunk, relieving Mira of her role. In an attempt to remain useful, she collected the bag of topsoil and offered it. He nodded, and she pushed forward to pour into the depression. Once full, Garak swept, pushed, and sometimes shoved the grains into place around the plant until it slowed and came to a rest.

“As planting experiences go, that could have been better. But it also could have been worse!” Garak declared. He beamed at Mira. “Would you like to switch for the next one?”

That sounded fun. He pulled off his gloves and handed them over. She was surprised to find them much cooler and drier than expected. Maybe Cardassians had more in common with the regnar than just scales.

“Okay, what if we bring the pot up here next to the hole, so we can just lift the plant and drop it in, maybe not give it time to become all…wiggly,” Mira ventured.

“A sound hypothesis. Let us try.”

They lifted in synchrony. Once the plant was next to the hole, Garak held it up as high as he could while leaning awkwardly forward, and Mira pulled the vessel down. She twisted slightly to set it on the ground near her feet. By the time she had returned, the roots had already set in motion. They expanded outward in a diameter too large for the waiting cavity. Garak steadied it while slowly descending his arms, and Mira started tucking in roots. But she couldn’t reach the back ones. She hitched up a little, setting her hips on the sharp ledge and tried not to wince while grabbing wayward tendrils. The plant was tipping anyway, and Garak had no choice but to move behind her and brace the plant on both sides.

A sudden wave of heat rolled through Mira’s body as she felt the male body pressed against her, from shoulder to buttocks. She was barely aware of what was happening after that, but they managed to get the matter squared away. Finished, Mr. Garak wrapped his gray hands around her arms and helped slip her back down the wall, sliding down his front until her feet touched the path again. Oh, who knew that gardening could be so… sensual?

But he stepped away and gathered the tools while she tried to compose herself. She attempted to slow her breathing and heart rate as she watched him return them to the storage closet. Her thoughts continued to race, however. What the hell had that been? Had he felt anything? With his shielded moods, all she had to go on was his body. She hadn’t had a chance to see if his pupils were dilated. She wasn’t sure if his people had that response anyway. She knew what she _hadn’t_ felt when he was pressed to her, but that could be a species thing, too. She resolved to look up Cardassian anatomy back in her room.

Mr. Garak looked like he had come to some sort of decision while gone. He awarded Mira with a charming smile. “Thank you _so much_ for your help today. I wonder if I could repay you? Perhaps with dinner?” His head was tipped to the side in invitation. His pale blue eyes had darkened noticeably.

Hmm. “When were you thinking?”

“I have several orders to fill this week, but next Wednesday is open.”

“Next week I’ll be replacing Professor O’Brien in the school. I’ll probably be using my evenings to work on the lessons. Maybe next Friday?”

“Splendid! We can celebrate your contribution to the edification of our youth. Where would you like to eat?”

“I’ve already had Klingon and Ferengi food. Is there a place that serves Cardassian dishes?” Her natural curiosity had made her regret experimenting with the first two venues, but hopefully the third would be more palatable.

A pause. His head shifted to the other side. “Unfortunately, very few Cardassian recipes exist on the station, and none of them outside of the replicators. But I would hardly wish to subject you to a dinner at the replimat.” He let down his guard just slightly, allowing Mira to pick up a whisper of his attraction to her. “If you truly find Cardassian culture of interest, we could dine in my quarters. I could provide various traditional and modern musical scores to enhance the experience.”

“I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, rainbow eucalyptus is a real thing!


	8. On Art and Rollercoasters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lunch with Keiko and an unexpected evening with Julian

As soon as she saw Keiko with her husband, Mira had to refrain from smacking her forehead. O’Brien. Of course. Chief Engineer Miles O’Brien. The pair was standing next to a table at the replimat and were deep in a heated conversation. Mira decided to give them a moment to finish while she got in line. But it was still close enough that she could hear a bits of what they said.

“I’m tellin’ ya, that Cardie’s up to somethin!” the Chief insisted.

“Miles, keep your voice down. And I thought you were getting along better now.”

Whatever he said next was muffled, but it must have been conciliatory, because Keiko just shook her head and smiled. They said their goodbyes, and Professor O’Brien sat down in the chair at her side. Mira called to her.

“I’m already in line over here. What would you like?”

“Oh, thank you! I could go for some kabayaki.”

Mira wondered what had the Chief all up in arms. What was a Cardie? He couldn’t mean Cardassian, could he? If so, saying the name that way made it sound like a slur. 

Her turn came up. She requested two orders of kabayaki; she hadn’t had much Japanese food beyond sushi, so she might as well try it. Keiko hadn’t asked for a drink, so she played it safe and added two waters. She carried the tray over to the table.

They set about planning the next week of lessons. Mira’s strongest suit was biology, but the Professor wasn’t sure about getting too deep into anything scientific.

“I know,” Mira sighed. “After teaching on Bajor, I’m aware of their spiritual views. But what if we stuck to something that can be easily observed, something that isn’t debatable? I was thinking about taking the class on a trip to the arboretum.” The idea had come to her a few hours after her own visit.

Keiko shook her head. “I’ve taken them there plenty of times already. They’re probably tired of all my talk about botany.” Of course. Mira felt embarrassed.

“Well…I was also thinking about dissections. I could get my hands on some gagh worms from the Klingon restaurant, and the Ferengi should have some fresh snails for their juice, right?” She could probably get a few voles, too, but she wasn’t sure if her stomach could handle that. And it might be too much for the younger children.

“I like that,” Keiko said, “and I think the students will, too. But that might be a little much for your first time with them.”

True. “What about art? We could spend a day researching various forms and histories, and another couple days trying them out. Maybe end the week with a presentation and art show.” Her mind started whirring with possibilities.

“Now that sounds fun! I bet you have a firm background to start with. And the kids love hands-on projects.”

They merrily set up a day-by-day agenda, which Mira started recording on her padd. Most of the media and tools could be replicated, so no problem there. She felt pretty confident.

“I really love your outfit today,” Keiko complimented her. “What color is that jacket? Eggplant?”

Mira smiled. “That’s exactly the name Mr. Garak gave for the color! And I think he said the shirt is lilac.” Most people would have probably referred to them as dark purple and light purple. She liked finding out she wasn’t the only person who liked have names for specific hues. And on that topic…

“Do you… know much about Mr. Garak? He was really nice to me, but I met some people who weren’t very kind to him.”

Professor O’Brien gave her a knowing look. “I’m sorry if you heard my husband earlier. He has something of a blind spot when it comes to Cardassians after his time on Setlik III.”

_That doesn’t give him the right to be a bigot,_ Mira thought.

“As for Garak, well…he’s a unique individual. We occasionally talk about botany; he seems to have a background in it. I think he said he was a gardener on Romulus at one point.” She pondered. “Obviously the Bajorans are wary of him; the Occupation wasn’t that long ago. But he’s been a tremendous help around the station several times. According to Miles, he probably saved our lives once or twice!”

Mira didn’t know what to make of that at all. He was a tailor with gardening experience who…saved Deep Space Nine? Her investigations hadn’t brought up _anything_ about that before she moved there. She perceived that something was being held back, but without being full Betazoid, she couldn’t detect exactly what.

“Do you know why he stayed? He’s the only Cardassian here, right?”

Keiko pursed her lips. “I really can’t tell you. I’ve heard rumors, but I wouldn’t want to be responsible for spreading them.” She considered her audience. “Miles says he was exiled.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

That evening, Julian came over for a proper date. He’d messaged her 4 hours before, saying he had finished some medical trials early and unexpectedly had a free evening. They decided on meeting after dinner for a movie. Mira rearranged the furniture so the couch would have a better view of the wall screen.

Her guest showed up promptly at 1800. He looked even more handsome out of his uniform. She knew he hadn’t been wearing it last time, either, but she honestly couldn’t remember what he _had_ been wearing. Tonight, he was decked out in a loose-fitting teal shirt almost identical in color to the tone for Starfleet Science and black trousers. And brown shoes. Well, no one’s perfect.

He noticed the changes to the main space immediately. “What have we here?” She introduced him to the snake and gibble, both of which he insisted on holding. “I’m fascinated by xenobiology, which I guess is useful, being a doctor and all,” he commented. “I hadn’t even _heard_ of a gibble before.” He lifted it to eye level, then to his ear, and even sniffed it.

They soon settled on the couch to discuss what to watch. It turned out they both had a fondness for historical fiction, although Bashir preferred secret agent films while Mira enjoyed alternate timelines. Privately, she thought that his tastes were a little too antique; some of his suggestions came from the 20th century!

“But you see, if you watch the films, then you can live them out in the holosuites!” Julian asserted. “I have nearly a dozen spy-themed adventures. They’re set in exotic locales on Earth, and each one is a game for you to puzzle out.”

“But isn’t that a bit…pedestrian?” Mira asked. “Figuratively _and_ literally? Why run around on foot when there are other programs that let you swim in the oceans or fly through jungles?”

“They don’t have the _mental_ aspect,” he maintained. “I enjoy searching for clues and trying to fit them together just so, to beat the clock, bring the villain to justice, and save the world.”

“I’ll tell you what. You show me one of your spy thrillers, and I’ll take you on a _rollercoaster.”_

“What on Earth is that?” he inquired, brow furrowed.

“Not quite on Earth,” she replied. “Rollercoasters _were_ invented on there; they involved riding in a cart on a track, like a really speedy version of those old trains, except they rose and plummeted and made loops.” He didn’t look impressed. “But in a holosuite, you can ride a rollercoaster through a supernova, or dodge the canyons on an asteroid, or over an active volcano. Imagine being in a shuttle on a high-speed chase, but there’s no roof, so you can see _everything_ around you. And it takes a nose-dive straight to the ground but pulls up at the last second. It’s thrilling!”

“Well, if it’s half as exciting as you claim, I’m game. Do you think I could bring some friends? I know Jadzia would love to try it. And she might be able to convince Worf. I wonder what Miles would think…?”

Mira wasn’t sure she wanted to invite O’Brien, but she supposed it wouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not like there’s a lot of dialog on a rollercoaster. And meeting half of the senior staff could be really exciting.

The conversation zigged and zagged, from the holosuites to Ferengi business practices and the Rules of Acquisition (he had far more memorized that she did), which led to the climate on Ferenginar and thus climates on a dozen other planets. It was amazing how knowledgeable he was. They never even made it to a movie, just continued sharing information and gradually moving closer as they stated their points.

Somehow, they ended up on the topic of human biology, and Mira shared that she’d actually had 4 extra ribs removed: 2 off the top and 2 off the bottom.

“So, can you feel them missing?” Julian asked. He looked enthralled. He rubbed over his own unconsciously. “And did you get to _keep_ them?”

She laughed. “I tried! But I’d already signed them off with the document giving the doctors permission to perform the procedure. And no, I can’t really feel an absence. Just a couple of numb patches where the nerves were damaged.”

“Where are you numb?” He poked at her side, and she squeezed up, trying to bat off his finger and stifle a giggle. “Oh-ho, you’re ticklish!” An all-out tickle fight launched, full of twisting limbs and dirty tricks.

It was when Mira found herself trapped on her back, but on top of Julian’s chest, that the tone changed. She lost the will to escape, and instead pushed back a little. He hummed in appreciation and rubbed his cheek in her hair. “Hallo there.” The deeper timber in his voice was marvelous.

And then he began to nibble her ear. One hand trailed up to her breast, pulling the shirt up with it, and this time it _did not_ tickle. It massaged and squeezed gently. His fingertips found the sweet spot and twisted gently back and forth. She gasped as raw need bloomed between her legs. The feeling was assuaged as his other hand worked its way down her front and under her pants, seeking the warmth nestled below. Her back arched as both hands worked their magic. She turned her head, her mouth seeking his, and moaned when they met.

Mira felt like she was on display, lying there wanton and open to the room as his fingers pinched and pulled and danced over her intimate places. She could already feel the blood rushing into her lap, turning on a whole collection of nerves that wanted to overload. But the last two times, they’d skipped over what she considered a very crucial stage of love-making, and this time she was determined to include it.

She squirmed out of his hands and rolled over on top of him to straddle his legs. He raised his eyebrows in surprise but didn’t complain. Down came his pants. He lifted slightly so she could slide down the underwear. His cock bobbed eagerly, nearly at full-mast. She leaned down to take it into her mouth, enjoying the groan it elicited. He tasted sweet and just a little salty. The skin was a slightly-darker shade of tan and just a little red. She gently wrapped her hand around his balls as she ran her mouth up and down, creating a suction with her cheeks. He moaned. Her other hand circled the base so that the whole member was covered as she took him in and pulled away. Julian started to writhe, hands grasping at the air and back of the couch.

“Wait! Wait…” he panted. “I don’t want to come yet. Let’s get to the bed.” She started to lift off of him, but instead found herself _being_ lifted. He ducked partially under her stomach and pulled her over his shoulder, then stood up. However, his pants were still around his calves. Wrapping one arm around his prize, he managed to bend down and pull them up with the other hand. He was a great deal stronger and more graceful that she’d originally thought. They made their way to the bedroom, asscheek-to-cheek. Mira laughed and tried to brace herself, grabbing at the back of Julian’s shirt and hips.

Despite the caveman carry, he placed her gently on the bed, and proceeded to slowly peel her pants down her legs.

_< Infirmary to Dr. Bashir>_

Crap.

He pulled the badge from his pants. “Dr. Bashir here.”

< _We have a medical emergency. We need you right away.”_

“Alright. I’ll be on my way. Bashir out.” He looked at Mira apologetically. “To be continued?”

“Oh yes.” And she flopped back onto her pillow.


	9. School Daze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira's first teaching experience aboard Deep Space Nine

_How do I word this?_ Mira couldn’t think of a polite way to ask if she’d be receiving financial compensation for designing the DS9 banner. In Federation territory, these things were settled before even beginning. She settled on simply asking for a chance to meet and discuss the project in more detail.

Not even half an hour later, she received a friendly reply with an invitation to meet Major Kira in a week and a half; she’d be away on a mission before then. Mira accepted gladly; she’d have her own hands full this week as well.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Mira’s first day teaching went well, if far off course from her original agenda. She’d arrived early in preparation, and was welcomed by Captain Sisko himself, his arms around his sullen-looking son and a young Ferengi.

“Ms. Vawn! Thank you for joining us. Benjamin Sisko.” He offered his hand. He had a firm, brisk handshake that she liked immediately. “These fine young gentlemen are my son, Jake, and his friend, Nog. They think they’re too _old_ for school, but back on Earth they’d be just finishing up their last year. I thought maybe they could be teaching assistants.” They didn’t look excited about the prospect. “Jake here is a writer, and Nog will be joining Starfleet.”

It might have been perceived that the Captain was stepping on her toes, presuming that he could just decide how to run her class, but he didn’t come across as condescending. More like a father-figure just trying to be helpful.

“I’m sure we can come up with something,” Mira answered. She addressed the boys. “For the first half of today, you can just help me get to know everyone and settle in? And then maybe at lunch, you can give me some feedback and ideas.” They perked up at the mention of lunch, but she presumed it was probably the mention of food, not collaboration.

The rest of the crowd arrived not long after. She’d brought her pets as an ice-breaker, which ended up becoming their own full lesson and hijacking the entire day. Jake, Nog, and a few of the older students started planning experiments for Gib; some wanted to test whether he would have color preferences when it came to food, seeing as he had no eyes, and others wanted to create an obstacle course with a treat for incentive. The younger students wanted to build new habitats for the gibble and snake for whenever they visited the classroom. The next several hours were spent replicating bedding materials, soil, fake rocks, basins, and decorations, which the kids enthusiastically arranged and rearranged and bickered over. Everyone was so enmeshed that they almost missed lunch. Mira was sure that half a dozen parents were going to spend that evening fending off requests for pets.

The second day went more smoothly. The adolescents continued planning their investigations and building the obstacle course. The rest of the kids were ready to start art lessons but were still excited about what they’d decided were their mascots, so Mira replicated some craft supplies and let them build their own alien creatures. The classroom became a glorious mess, which turned into the final lesson of the day: cleaning up. The students went home covered in fuzzy tufts and glitter and adhesive, some of them carrying completed projects, others brining home supplies for more fun, and all of them excited for the next lesson.

By the third day, some of the students had begun to lose interest in the animals. Nog was still building a gibble obstacle course, and Jake was recording a narrative with observations, but the rest of the older crowd was ready to move on. Seeing as her original lesson plans were shot, Mira decided to spend each of the remaining days covering art from three different planets.

With a flash of inspiration, she chose the Betazoid practice of _metzi_ first. _Metzi_ involved beginning with a bland or subtle and very flat food substance, then flavoring it with colorful herbs, garnishes, and small treats arranged into portraits or scenery. What kid wouldn’t love edible art?

The replicators didn’t have the exact ingredients to be authentic, so she decided to stick with familiar. The students had a choice of a mashed potato or refried bean base. These were covered with all varieties of leafy and floral herbs, noodles, stems, and whatever else the pupils thought of. She promised that if they sufficiently impressed her, the second half of the day could be devoted to _metzi_ desserts. They attacked their assignments with gusto.

By the time lunch rolled around, Mira was heartily sick of food. But a break is a break, so she took her padd to the replimat to catch up on reading with a small drink. She picked a table that was out of the way for a little quiet.

Her concentration was broken by a heated argument that had broken out at the other end of the space. Two men were arguing and gesticulating wildly. To her bewilderment, one of them was Julian. And the other…Mr. Garak? The younger man braced one hand on the table and used his fork to accentuate his speech by repeatedly pointing it at the other. The tailor had a look on his face that she hadn’t seen before: engrossed but also calculating. As soon as his adversary took a breath, he jumped in.

It occurred to her that the two gentleman actually seemed to be debating, not fighting. And both appeared to be thoroughly enjoying it, too. They were so engrossed that at one point Bashir even took a drink from Garak’s glass instead of his own, and neither noticed. Having conversed with both, Mira was desperately curious about what they were discussing, sure that it would be enthralling.

She tried to keep her focus on her current book, but the distant voices of the two companions rose and fell like a torrential rain, rushing in and then washing out. She watched as the tailor brought out a data rod, and seemed to be taunting the doctor with it. Bashir’s hand shot out and grabbed it before it could be rescinded, but Garak didn’t release the tube. He voiced a warning. Julian tugged, Garak held fast. They were both leaning into the table, eyes locked. If Mira was totally honest with herself, it was kind of hot.

The padd bleeped a two-minute alarm, signaling that it was time to return to class.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

The next day was split into two obscure ancient Earth fads: diorama wigs of the eighteenth century in the morning and balloon animals from the twentieth century in the afternoon. While crafting fantabulous scenes to wear on their heads, Mira worked in a few lessons on physics and biology by tying in balance, posture, and skeletal structure. It didn’t sink in until they started trying to _wear_ their creations. Then suddenly the mass of the wig, the alignment of their spine, and the shape of their skull became very important. Nog had the most fun by far, seeing as his head had the most surface area. However, he was forced to go home directly after lunch, because his sensitive ears simply could not stand the rubbing/squeaking sound of latex against itself as everyone joyfully twisted and folded their balloons.

Mira was determined to end the week with a bang, but thought that the populace might prefer something gentler. The convection chimes of Trill were a logical choice. Air was heated in a cauldron of sorts, with a forcefield extending upwards from the rim about 75 cm. Various buoyant items were dropped in to dance on the air currents. The music and visual art created depending on the materials used. Metallic objects were always a popular choice, as they sparkled and produced melodious tones. Sands and powders produced a smokey effect that sounded like ocean waves or a desert wind. One artist had been known for only using scarves to emulate the interweaving of minds and souls between symbiont and host.

This session wasn’t enjoyed solely by the students; several passers-by stopped throughout the day to observe the young artists at work. A few threw in their own suggestions. Someone even offered to buy one for their own quarters. Mira asked Jake to speak to his father about putting their work on display around the Promenade, and he assured her that it would most definitely be an affirmative.

Overall, the week felt like a success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Diorama wigs were a real thing in the 1700’s.  
> • I want to invent Trill convection chimes. Does anyone know how to make a forcefield?  
> • Garak will finally get some action in the next two chapters


	10. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots of talking. Where will it lead?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally planned on the interactions between Garak and Mira being superficial and mainly physical. But my once-brief chapter is now 2 longer ones, because both characters like to pontificate and overthink everything.

Mira arrived at Mr. Garak’s quarters with a new-found rudimentary knowledge of Cardassian anatomy and a vague feeling of guilt. Afterall, as the Federation picked up fallen soldiers throughout the quadrant, their discoveries were shared with the intent to improve medical frontiers, not advance interspecies encounters.

It might not even come to that, she knew. None of the articles from her perusal mentioned anything about mating practices. The closest she’d come was a brief piece published for the universities mentioning that Cardassians flirted and courted through debate. Maybe the evening would be spent with a quiet quarrel over dinner.

She was welcomed into a cozy and well-heated living space. It was decorated tastefully, with a few sculptures and plants placed in corners and on shelves. There was music playing, something unfamiliar but melodic and percussive; the instruments sounded reminiscent of the Terran xylophone and bamboo chimes.

Garak was dressed stylishly as well. He had donned a black tunic with white edging across the top and bottom, and down one side, completed with solid black trousers. Previously, his clothing had featured high collars and layer upon layer of fabric, but tonight the neckline was wider and lower, the material much thinner. It seemed appropriate, given the higher temperature of the chamber. The overall effect was an appealing combination of sleek and stylish, yet casual.

Mira had worn one of the dresses he’d crafted. It was a delicate shift with straps that crisscrossed over her chest and back. She’d chosen it for the deep maroon shade that was the same tone as the few Cardassian emblems that remained on the station. Like him, she had an affinity for detail.

Dinner consisted of three Cardassian dishes set in the middle of the table. Each diner had their own plate, where they could collect the items they wished to eat. It was a small table, which made for an intimate experience.

“I like the music. What is this?” Mira queried.

Garak straightened, taking on an instructive tone. “Krrsa is traditional folk music, played after the summer solstice. It is usually performed by adolescents in the evenings, while the community sits out on their porches. Not everyone off-planet can appreciate the subtleties. Tell me, what do you hear?”

Mira closed her eyes and focused. She’d played her fair share of instruments, so she liked to think she had a decent ear for music. “Hmmm. I think there’s something with wooden slats, hit by a mallet. Possibly a drum…And a string instrument. A medium one, with a wide, round resonance chamber.”

“Bravo! That was _quite_ impressive. Most listeners are only able to pick out two of the three. The kaddur, het-tchor, and elng are the most common instruments used to play Krrsa. The kaddur is almost as you said, a series of flattened reeds of different lengths, played with a mallet.” She’d been right; it was a xylophone. “The het-tchor is a drum made by partially hollowing out one of our desert plants, comparable to a squat Terran cactus. And the elng is very much as you described.”

“The sound of the elng reminds me of a Turkish oud, except a little more hollow, deeper. If you like it, I’m sure there’re some string instruments from Earth you’d appreciate. We have a whole plethora of them, from the ukulele to the contrabass.” She thought of the desert civilizations. “You might like the sitar or the lute.”

“I’m always willing to expand my horizons. Do you have any examples to share?

Mira excused herself and sat behind the console at his desk. “May I?” He gestured magnanimously. She pulled up some files showing what the instruments looked like, along with their sound clips. He listened attentively, then brought up a few suggestions of his own. The dinner plates were relocated to the work desk, and the rest of the meal was spent sharing different forms of music. They took turns at the console, and finally ended up with Garak in the seat and Mira sitting on the desktop. He’d been mildly scandalized when she scooted his tailoring tools aside to make room, but soon they were both leaning over, arguing over whose turn it was and which songs were better.

A thought occurred to her. “Oh, wait until you hear this. Tell me what you think. But you have to go somewhere else.”

“Getting dismissed from my very own desk. How impertinent you are!” But Garak sounded delighted, and he complied, adjourning to the couch. He sat back and waited patiently as Mira searched for just the right clip and set it playing.

He listened, eyes closing as he leaned into the cushions. “How striking. I almost thought it was a woman at first, but it’s not a vocalization. It’s haunting. Is it…Bajoran? Vulcan?”

“No, it’s a singing saw.”

“I’m not sure the translator picked that up correctly.”

“It probably did. A handsaw was something humans once used to cut down limbs from trees. But nowadays it’s played with a bow, like a violin.”

“I must say, humans are very _resourceful_ creatures. Highly creative.”

“We are. Which reminds me.” She pulled up an album that she hadn’t listened to in a decade, but had been one of her favorites for a few years. Satisfied that the ambience was taken care of for the near future, she joined him on the couch.

The sound of running water flowed around them, accompanied by metallic but smooth and warm tones. The melody meandered through a low register. They sat peacefully into the next song.

Garak spoke first. “Coming from a planet that is mostly desert, I don’t think it ever occurred to us to use water with music. But it does calm and soothe the nerves, doesn’t it?”

It was Mira’s turn to lecture. “The hydraulophone actually uses water as part of the instrument. It’s piped through a tube, and exits dozens of small openings. Placing your finger over different holes produces the notes. I saw a performance live, once.”

She sighed and leaned against the arm of the couch. The evening had gone nothing like she’d expected. But that’s not to say it wasn’t agreeable. Sometimes good conversation, food, and music can be plenty sufficient. But still, the events at the tailor shop and arboretum had hinted at something more…

“May I offer you a drink?”

_Anything but kanar._ She’d learned that the Cardassian alcohol of choice was fish-based. “Do the replicators make merlot?” It was an older Terran wine, but she enjoyed it on quiet evenings in.

“We’ll find out.” Garak returned with two glasses. He sat down, noticeably closer to Mira than before. She accepted, sitting up and moving toward the center of the seat. They took a couple sips of the watered-down, sweet, red wine. Dry and smoky would have been preferable, but replicated is as replicated does.

“What would you like to discuss now?” the tailor asked. He turned slightly, placing his arm over the back of the sofa behind her. The picture of urbane poise. The thought of Julian flashed unbidden to her mind. He was all enthusiasm and erratic energy. Whereas Garak was slow and deliberate. How different the two were.

Her attention was drawn back by a subtle change in the air. Garak had placed his glass of wine on the table and was studying her now. He placed a hand on her knee tentatively.

“I must admit, I have not…spent time with a human in circumstances of this nature until now. I _have_ observed many pairs enjoying a dinner together…But I find myself at a loss about what to do next.”

A slight frisson danced down Mira’s neck. “What would a Cardassian do? It might not be so different from human nature.”

He blinked. Considered. “I suppose it depends on the Cardassian. But I fear that in most cases, you would not find the results appealing.”

_Then… why did you invite me here?_ But she was not easily deterred. “Humans as a species are known for being extremely adventurous. And open-minded. I consider myself an adequate representative in that respect,” she returned.

“Would you really say so? You’re not even entirely human to begin with.”

“But I’m also part Betazoid, and they’re much the same. And while Vulcans are considered very stoic, isn’t it based on the fact that deep down they’re incredibly passionate?” She wasn’t sure she’d actually proven her point, but she paused to let Garak speak.

“Be that as it may, my people are not known for being kind or gentle souls. Perhaps we should end the night here.” And with that, he stood up and strode toward the door.

Mira wasn’t sure whether this was some version of Cardassian debate, a challenge, or genuine concern. She rushed over to grab his arm, prompting him to stop. When he faced her, she withdrew to cross her arms. “I’m not going to break.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • The singing saw and hydraulophone are real instruments; the Cardassian ones are products of my imagination.  
> • If I can get back into sketching, I really want to draw Garak in his dinner costume.   
> • The next chapter is nothing but shameless smut.


	11. The Dragon Awakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cardassian anatomy is loosely based on the ideas of tinsnip, and AO3 genius.

He was larger than her, definitely bulkier and sturdier. Undeniably stronger.

So, when he reached up and grabbed her chin roughly, she wasn’t surprised. What did startle her was how gentle his lips were. She stepped in, placing her hands on his chest. His own came to rest on her hips, and the kiss deepened, his tongue tasting her lips before questing inside. After a lifetime of touching almost exclusively mammalian species, the deviation from a hot and wet mouth to cool and dry was a novel experience. But not an unpleasant one. She lifted slightly onto her toes, exerting a little pressure with her hands as they slid up to his shoulders. When she reached the ridges beneath his tunic, the hands on her waist tightened and pulled her closer against him.

She could sense his restraint. He craved more. His fingers kneaded her lower back in want, the tips pressing in along the edges of her spine as the kiss continued. A jolt of heat shot downwards, and she clenched her muscles tight enough to feel the first dab of moisture. She leaned harder into the kiss, pulling at his lips with her teeth. He angled his face so that her mouth hovered over his jaw ridge. Taking the hint, she bit softly, then nibbled along the edge.

The designs on his neck had begun to darken to a deep charcoal blue. The pattern was fascinating, with the outer ring of each scale remaining pale, but growing darker toward the center. Her mouth trailed down to trace tessellated scales along his neck, towards the shoulder. She licked one crest, then the next, experimentally, to gauge his reaction. The thick center scales seemed the most sensitive.

She must have hesitated a second too long, because his hands slid down to cup her buttocks, lifting her slightly. She bit down. The gasping moan that slid out of his throat was most gratifying. He squeezed tighter; it felt like he was leaving permanent indentations in her rear. Encouraged, she wrapped one leg around his and rubbed against him.

His head dipped down into the crook of her neck. He breathed in deeply, searching for a scent. One hand reached up to sweep her hair away so that he could nip and then suck at her skin. A needy moan escaped her.

While his physical actions remained firmly constrained, Garak had less control now over his thoughts. She was beginning to pick up his desire, with brief flashes of images: shoving her up against the wall, dragging her down to the floor, stretching her over the table. Mira marveled at the disconnect between what he wanted and what he permitted.

As he ran his tongue along the underside of her jaw and up to her ear, she gripped his arms and planned her next move. She was overwhelmed by the desire to feel skin, and she wasn’t sure if the feeling belonged to her or him, but acted on it. She slipped her hands down his arms, gliding past his hands and settling on his thighs before lifting up his tunic. Above the trousers, she was rewarded with a hairless expanse of scales, tickling her fingertips and caressing her palms.

He began to mirror her actions, but was hampered by the dress. When his hands reached her hips, he pinched the fabric and lifted, exposing her thighs. Mira moaned, expecting him to begin stroking the exposed skin, but instead continued to draw the shift upward until her hands were pulled away from him so that he could remove the garment altogether. He nudged her backwards to take a look at what he had uncovered. She found her hips pressed to the edge of the dining table. She gripped it with her hands and hitched her way up to perch at the very edge. The position opened her legs slightly.

Garak’s pupils grew wider. His tongue darted out as he picked up a new scent in the air. He stepped closer. Studied her from head to toe. Leaned in, and put his hands on her upper legs. Just as she thought he was going to resume their kiss, he lowered himself to kneel on the floor, setting his face between her thighs. He took another deep breath in and closed his eyes. He kissed the left leg, so close to her underwear, then the right leg. He pushed his face into the damp patch of cloth, breath sending puffs onto her sensitized skin. He mouthed against her, his lips and nose exciting multiple points at once. She closed her eyes, only to feel additional anticipation as his fingers slid the covering to the side. “Perhaps we are more similar than I assumed,” he murmured thoughtfully, before sliding a couple fingers into her moist entrance. Mira bucked, nearly falling backwards onto the table.

Garak made a faint noise of discontent. “This may not be the ideal location for our activities. Shall we adjourn to the bed?” He withdrew, drawing a whimper from his companion. He gathered up her discarded dress and draped it neatly over his arm, then offered the other to help her dislodge from the table.

The bedroom felt even warmer than the front room, possibly because there were heat lamps focused on the bed. Glad that she was mostly undressed, Mira sat down and leaned back on her hands, one knee bent. The effect was lost on her companion, however, as he was meticulously arranging her clothing over the back of a chair to ensure that it would not wrinkle. She smiled; of course, he was a tailor.

He joined her, sitting on the side of the bed, the top half of his body facing her. She moved closer, running her hands up the seam of his tunic until she found a hidden clasp and undid it. The whole front opened up to another layer with another fastener. She undid this one as well, separating them like a jacket to reveal his bare chest. She was thrilled to see that the scaling was even more intricate here. Larger scales across the chest that faded into smaller ones, and a mostly smooth stomach. Raising on her knees, she pushed the garment back from his shoulder and down his arms. He gripped the fabric before it dropped to the carpet, leaning briefly from the bed to lay it on the chair by her dress.

She entertained the idea of straddling him, but that wouldn’t be conducive to removing his trousers. So far, she hadn’t felt or seen any signs of arousal from his lower torso, and she was desperately curious. But there was still plenty of unexplored territory. She rubbed his pectoral plates, which were the largest ones, and completely unadorned. Between them was another inverted drop shape like the one on his forehead. She bent forward to feel it with her mouth. It was smooth and slightly warmer than the rest of his skin, and when she thrust her tongue into the depression, something between a growl and a moan reverberated against her lips. She repeated the act, only to have her arms gripped tightly and forced back, pushing her down onto the bed.

He brought his legs up and stretched out along her side, then returned to his earlier task of marking her neck. A hand slipped down her waist and dipped beneath her underwear, fingertips questing until they found their way inside, but his thumb rubbed back and forth above them, sending shocks deep inside her.

Mira’s right arm was trapped beneath him, but she brought her left across to search out Garak’s waistband and slip under. _No underclothes,_ she realized. Unimpeded, she ran her hand down until she met a bump. She traced it, realizing that it was another spoon-shaped ridge. And if his brief cry out signified anything, it held just as many nerves as the nub he was massaging on her own body. She explored past it, and found that the parallels continued. There was a wet slit, lined by two mounds of thick scales. She stroked her fingers down them on the outside, then ran a finger up the inside of one and down the other, imagining what she would want if she were him.

Unable to concentrate, he pressed his face into her hair, the hand against her stuttering. She dipped two digits inside him, rubbing the walls of his opening. And then, as they moved in further, she met a rounded and hard protrusion. Ah, there it was. She circled it, finding a ring around the top. With a moan and a spasm, it pushed against her and everted. Satisfied by the response, she wrapped her hand around him. The organ had at least five concentric ridges, and the thought of it inside her was maddening.

They hadn’t spoken in some time, but Mira brushed her cheek against him and purred into his ear. “What are your thoughts about removing the rest of our clothing?”

Despite the harsh breathing, his voice was as composed and liquid as ever. “I have surprisingly few thoughts on the matter. But they all end the same way: with a most… _satisfying_ conclusion.”

With that, he sat astride her, hooking his hands on the waistband of her briefs to slide them off as he backed up, and stepped down from the bed. He walked to the side of the bed to divest himself of his own clothing. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, watching hungrily as he fastidiously folded his bottoms.

“Garak, if we don’t move this along, I’m going to go insane.”

His stare was sharp and predatory, his tackle far less graceful than his normal glide. Mira toppled back and in the general direction of the pillow. The tailor had one leg up on the bed beside her hip, one leg on the floor. He gripped the back of her head and angled it to bite down a claim on her shoulder. She reached around to trace the ridges and scales that adorned his back, especially along the spine.

She was finding it easier to read him as his control continued to slip: he wanted her to scratch down the planes of his back, digging in deep to be felt through the tough skin. She obliged. At this fulfillment, he rumbled in his chest and tightened his grip in her hair. He pulled back to look into her face, silently assessing her decision. She didn’t like to be second-guessed. She slid her right leg out and around his left, still balanced on the floor next to the bed, and reached out to grasp his erection, drawing it toward her. The growl it elicited was the only warning before her hand was pulled away and she was crushed beneath him. He claimed her mouth, parting her lips with his tongue while simultaneously parting her folds with the head of his member. Both slipped in, and oh, it was spectacular.

As he began to thrust inside her, she could feel every ring of his shaft slide in and out. Both of them being angled halfway off the bed only enhanced the sensation. They bounced faster, both of her legs now twining around his, pulling him in tighter. His chest didn’t glide over hers; it scratched in a hundred different places, each scale a separate point of contact like pebbles across her nipples. How had she never taken a reptilian lover before this?

They clawed at each other as both sought their release, taking as much pleasure as they gave. Garak twisted his leg a little to steady himself, and that was all it took to send Mira over the edge. She cried out, nearly shouting. As she crested the peak, she bit down on his jaw, triggering his own climax.

After a couple minutes respite, they finally straightened themselves out to lie fully on the narrow bed. She could him pulling away mentally, what few barriers that had fallen being hastily resurrected. It didn’t surprise her when he spoke, his tone cordial and cool. “The hour is rather late. I’m sure the corridors are empty. Now would be a suitable time to leave without being detected.”

Caught off guard, Mira asked, “Why would I want to do that?” She turned on to her side to look at him.

He wrinkled his forehead. “Surely you know that most occupants of this station do not think well of me. You would not want our association to alienate you from them.”

She hadn’t expected such self-deprecation from the tailor. Mira decided that strong language would be the best approach. “Garak, I don’t really give a fuck what people think about who I spend my time with. I have absolutely zero tolerance for bigotry and ignorance.” She laid a hand on his chest. “But I will go if you want me to.”

“What an appreciable sentiment, if couched in coarse words. You may stay if you like.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

In deference to his bedmate, Garak had turned off the heat lamps for the night. Which meant that the next morning, he was wrapped firmly around the next best thing. Mira found it endearing. After exchanging pleasantries, he exited the bed and pulled on a navy blue robe. The outside was brocade, very fitting for a tailor, but a glimpse of the inside showed that it was filled with a soft fluff, enormously cozy. He padded over to the bathroom.

Mira was normally an early riser, but the previous night’s exertions had taken their toll. Her limbs felt rubbery, warm, and languid. She spent a minute just basking in the afterglow. Giving in to a twinge here and there, she lifted her arms toward the headboard for a much-needed _streeeetch._ She arched her back and the muscles scrunched up, accompanied by a delicious and satisfying pull in her sides and abdomen.

The next thing she knew, she was crushed into the mattress with Garak’s weight pressing her down. Many partners had found her stretching displays to be provocative, and it seemed this one was no exception. One hand bruised her wrists, securing them in place over her head, the other next to her, unintentionally tearing the sheet from the corner of the bed. He began biting his way up her neck, teeth nearly puncturing the skin.

This was how she’d originally pictured an aroused Cardassian: aggressive, dominating, and far from gentle. She braced the pads of her feet on his calves, using the leverage to arch again, her body rubbing his length in encouragement. She could feel more than hear the rumble in his chest that answered back. He switched sides to gnaw on the other side of her neck, occasionally laving her skin with his tongue, nuzzling behind her ear.

Overwhelmed by the wealth of physical contact but unable to act while her hands were immobilized, Mira whimpered. He nipped harder. Inspired, she bit down on the shoulder ridge in her face. She swore she could hear a hiss and he ground his hips into her. She used the distraction to twist one of her hands out of the lock. She grabbed a fistful of hair and _yanked_. His head was pulled back, forcing him to look up and acknowledge that she wasn’t planning to remain submissive. His hooded blue eyes were wild and hard as diamond. He was strong and fast, but when he reached for her free hand to capture it again, she had already contorted her body to start pulling out from under him.

A wrestling match commenced; he was undeniably powerful, utilizing his bulk and muscle to restrain her movements, but she was agile and creative, maneuvering time and again to squirm an arm or leg out of a hold. Neither was aware at exactly what point the robe fell away.

The last functioning logical part of her brain bemoaned the fact that she was going to be covered in bruises, and he’d likely come away unblemished. That problem was easily remedied, as they were both currently on their sides, his thighs around her stomach and calves clamped against her legs, which put his own abdomen within reach. She found a soft, unscaled patch on his side and clamped her mouth down. The give of skin between her teeth was satisfying. The roar he made as his hand raked down her back, however, was slightly alarming.

The sound was forgotten as she was flipped over unceremoniously. Her head hung off one side of the narrow mattress with legs draped over the opposite edge. Before she could make any adjustments, Garak had already sheathed himself inside her. Any final breath of conscious thought fled as she gave in to desire. As the pressure built between them, her legs lifted on either side, spreading her wider for more stimulation inside and out. A burning ache spread from her groin and down the insides of her thighs. He increased the pace, the growling thunder in his chest spurring an unbearable vibration in her torso. She felt herself rising to the peak. As she clenched and screamed out, Garak’s whole body seized. He became rock solid and his eyes went completely vacant. They nearly tumbled from the bed, but he came to at the last second and caught them both. He collapsed partially on top of her, mumbling Kardassi into the mattress.

Mira panted, desperate for a drink of water after the extended bout of heavy breathing. “Do you… Do you think…?” She tried again. “I don’t suppose you have any water nearer than the bathroom?”

He pulled away, then rotated and sat up with his legs over the side of the bed while leaning forward. “I’ll get some.” He recovered the robe and donned it a second time. She was inwardly impressed by his speed of recovery.

She sat up to take his offering and heard him hiss in concern. And release a brief flicker of… annoyance? Contrition? “You’re bleeding.” His eyes were on the sheets.

She turned to see two small lines of red droplets. At the realization, the skin on her back began to sting. Garak walked around to the other side of the bed and examined his handiwork, then returned to the refresher. Mira called to his retreating frame, “Sorry about the sheets. I’ll try not to ruin them next time.” _Ass,_ she added mentally.

He reappeared with a regenerator and raised eyebrows. “I’m gratified to hear that you’re amenable to a next time. And you didn’t cause nearly as much damage as I did, my dear.” Sure enough, the top of the sheet was nearly shredded.

She pulled the regenerator from his grip and checked the settings. “How did you get this? I thought these were for medical staff only.”

“Oh, a tailor is often in need of restorative care. We work with all manner of sharp implements. It’s so much _easier_ to just treat small wounds myself than inconvenience the good doctor or his nurses.” He took back the device. “Don’t you trust me, little regnar?”

“Human skin is vastly different from Cardassian scales,” she retorted, secretly pleased that he continued to use the term of endearment.

“Mmm, that it is,” he said as he brushed his open hand down her arm. He came back to himself and fiddled with the instrument for a second before retreating behind her back to begin his ministrations.

“Did I get you at _all_?” she grumbled into the silence.

She felt the briefest touch of amusement eek out of him. “I _will_ be tender in one spot. You managed to mark a location that should be beneath the waist of my trousers.” He took a breath and leaned in by her ear. “It will be a constant annoyance…and nearly impossible to forget.” Which meant that he wasn’t planning to use the regenerator to remove it. Mollified, she grinned.


	12. Latinum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira does business with Quark and Kaga

Mira and Keiko shared another lunch that weekend to discuss and map out the botanist’s next absence from the classroom. She was going to be spending two weeks on Bajor, cataloguing some of the alpine species of plants and fungi found far from the cities. Mira felt secure that she could handle dissections this time around, and Professor O’Brien agreed.

Most school-related dissections had been halted on Earth hundreds of years ago with the advent of overarching animal rights. But seeing as various cultures consumed real (and occasionally living) animals, Mira didn’t see a problem with letting the students—the adolescents, anyway—examine creatures that were doomed for consumption. And the youngest students would take advantage of a reverse-dissection program: interactive holograms in which the children could learn about the functions of various organs and systems, then join them together to build the animal.

The first stop was Quark’s. She approached him early the next morning to ensure his full attention, and… she didn’t want customers to look at her funny when she presented her list. Also, she’d heard that it was best to have a clear mind when dealing with the Ferengi, so this would ensure fewer distractions.

“Ah! Hello there, welcome to Quark’s. What can I get for you this morning?” The proprietor set down the glass he was wiping and picked up a padd.

Mira pulled out her own, list at the ready. “I have something of an unusual request. I was wondering if I could purchase a few items a la carte.”

“That’s not something I normally do,” he replied, folding his arms. “I’m in the business of making money, and selling individual items doesn’t do that very well.”

“It’s for educational purposes,” she tried.

“Ha! I don’t give away anything free, if that’s your angle.”

“Okay, well…what if I purchase a meal, and ask for some sides?” She really hoped this would work.

“I suppose that would be acceptable. What do you have in mind?”

“I need…or at least, I’d _like_ the following items, if you think you’ll have them in stock ten days from now: slugs, snails, gree worms, and Bajoran shrimp. Eight of each. Do you carry Romulan mollusks, too?”

Quark blinked a couple times. He looked like he was going to ask a question, but just shrugged instead. Latinum is latinum. “I have most of those, and the rest will arrive in tomorrow’s shipment. What would you like for the main course?”

Mira didn’t really care. But this _was_ a chance to consume something non-replicated, so she thought back to her time on Bajor. “How about ratamba stew?”

“An excellent choice.” He rang up her order and set a pickup date. She didn’t even bother haggling over the price, since the order wasn’t especially large. Dealing with Quark wasn’t nearly as unpleasant as gossip had led her to expect.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

The Klingon restaurant didn’t open until later in the day, so the next order of business was to contact Bashir. She’d planned on messaging him, but the infirmary wasn’t far, so she’d just pop in to check and see if he wasn’t busy.

As soon as she walked in, she was greeted by the doctor, who was leaning over a console. “Ah, it’s the lovely Ms. Vawn. What can I do for you this fine morning?” He sounded a little bit like Garak, now that she thought about it. Was it because they spent time together? Or did everyone here speak with eloquent verbosity? She internally rolled her eyes at herself. If the latter were the case, then she obviously fit in.

“If you’re not too busy, I was hoping you could help me out with an anatomy lesson.”

He stopped tapping on the screen to raise a saucy eyebrow.

“That didn’t come across the way I meant it,” she laughed. “I mean, not that I wouldn’t appreciate…” she looked around to make sure there weren’t any nurses present, “…a personal tutorial. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m planning dissections for my next session in the schoolroom. I thought maybe the first day, we could visit here. Keiko mentioned that the class has been here before to learn about the _purpose_ of the infirmary and the roles of the doctors and nurses, but I’d like to delve into the tools and their uses, and some of the imaging equipment used to look inside bodies. That is, if that’s something you think you’d have time for.” Speaking of time, “I’m not interrupting you now, am I? Do you have a moment to talk?”

He did, and they quickly decided on a time and general overview of what they would cover for the lesson. Not wanting to monopolize the doctor, Mira prepared to go.

“Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to help with this. I should let you get back to work now,” she said, although technically he’d been busy at not one but two consoles throughout their conversation.

“Oh, before you go,” Julian said. “Are you free at all over the next few days? With the _Ak Pagh_ festival coming up, the holosuites have a ton of openings. Those of us who aren’t Bajoran are planning to share some adventures with each other.” He plucked at his sleeve nervously. “I may have volunteered your rollercoaster program,” he finished sheepishly.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

K’rahnkan Vah’gin was located on the upper level of the promenade. Mira hadn’t dined there yet, by virtue of being unable to digest most of the dishes. Or pronounce the language, try as she might. She couldn’t deny that it had character though. A certain ambience. Space diner meets warrior stronghold. Chef Kaga had his own charm as well. More than once, she’d seen him throw back his head in laughter and throw a plate of food over his shoulder. He had the Klingon arrogant joie de vivre typical of his race, which could come across as abrasive to those who weren’t versed in their culture. As long as she presented as respectful and not intimated, he should be approachable.

“Ghagh teq’or?”

“Greetings! I’m not actually eating right now; I was hoping to place an order for ten days from now.” He didn’t scowl, so that was promising. “I’d like an order of gagh and an order of racht. I don’t suppose…do you have an entire krada, not just the legs? Maybe more than one?”

“That is an unusual request. It sounds as if you wish to entertain a special Klingon guest. You must be much stronger than you look, little one!” he exclaimed jovially. “When they arrive, bring them here and I can make sure they are fed with honor. I recommend the zilm’kach for dessert.”

Disappointed to disabuse Kaga’s impression, Mira explained herself. She hoped using his food for a learning tool wasn’t offensive. “Actually, I was planning to use them in school. I’m going to teach a unit on xeno-anatomy and analogous structures throughout the galaxy.”

She watched the wheels turn behind his eyes, which lit up. “You mean to teach humans and Bajorans about life from Kronos? Qapla’! I can do this for you. How many krada do you need? They are quite expensive if you want the entire animal.”

She didn’t really need them. It had been a spur of the moment thought. She was prepared to change her order when she noticed something behind the chef.

“I don’t actually have a lot of money. Could I offer a trade? I could take care of that pile of plates and pots so you’d be free to cook and serve for your customers.” The pile was enormous, nearly a meter high and 2 across. Now that she got a better look, Mira wasn’t sure she could see a single clean serving item in the room. Maybe they were in back?

“Hmm,” he growled, stroking his beard. “A helper would be welcome. If you were to clean up for the rest of this week, I could pay you with one krada a day. That is my offer.” The task was looking more daunting by the moment, but the pros outweighed the cons. This would be a great place to meet new people and expand her horizons. She might even be able to turn this into a side job to earn extra cash for the non-essentials.

She nodded, once. “I can start now.”

“Good, good. Come on back.” He jerked his head toward the door.

Once inside, the pile seemed to double in size. It wasn’t just plates and pots. There were trays, utensils, drinking vessels, and a dozen items she couldn’t readily identify. She approached warily.

Kaga stood beside her. “The replimat and other restaurants use replicated materials. But not here. Authentic Klingon food must be served on authentic stoneware.” He picked up a large, metal serving bowl. “ _This_ was hand-beaten on H’atoria.” A gesture to a cauldron-like pot over a fire. “Passed down through my family for 5 generations, from Kronos itself. And-” He halted when a customer approached the window.

Mira began with organizing the pile into smaller groups of similar items. Just as she was reaching for another plate, Kaga grabbed it from the stack. He carried it back to the counter, where he wiped it perfunctorily under the counter before placing it on top and adding food. On a hunch, Mira walked into the storage room. Besides the sink and foodstuffs, there were four empty shelves. She had a sneaking suspicion that was where the clean tools went. Well. She had her work cut out for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • If you’re curious, all of the food (Bajoran, Ferengi, Klingon) is canon.  
> • I used a Klingon translator for help, only to find out that it’s the exact phrase used in Melora! “Ghagh teq’or” translates to “What will you have?”   
> • The name of the Klingon restaurant is made up. If you know German, you might get the joke. If not, it’ll be explained sometime around chapter 19.


	13. Stepping in It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dukat makes an official appearance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this ages ago, and finally found a place for it!

Mira knew she was running a few minutes late. She’d spent longer than choosing which of her new outfits to wear, and then completely bungled trying to duplicate the hairstyle that Garak had shown her. She ended up skipping breakfast and grabbing a jumja juice on her hurried trip to the observation lounge for her meeting with Major Kira.

But then she’d had a little trouble finding the location. She’d left her padd behind, confident that she _basically_ knew the way and could follow signs if she got lost. But she’d gotten turned around anyway. She was relieved to finally locate her destination, but stopped when she recognized the Major’s voice coming from inside.

“How did you find me up here? Are you _following me_?” she hissed.

“Nerys, Nerys, I just wanted to finish our conversation from last week. There must have been a hardware malfunction; the connection cut off.” The answering had a voice had a rich timber but greasy quality, and the predatory emotions rolling off of the speaker in waves matched. Mira felt nauseated.

“ _No_ , I _ended_ the conversation. There was nothing more to say. And there still isn’t.” Kira’s emotions were much better controlled; Mira barely felt more than a ghost of pique. She was afraid to interrupt, although maybe the Major would appreciate it? She took a risk and pretended to walk by the lounge, sneaking a glance inside. Neither of the occupants saw her. The aggressor was a tall Cardassian male, with a leering expression and threatening posture, despite the placating words pouring out of his mouth. He also looked top-heavy, which gave Mira a terribly juvenile idea.

Only a few moments later, the perturbed man strode out of the room. However, his front foot slipped forward comically in a puddle that had materialized right in the doorway. “Wha--!” His hand reached out to grab the wall and brace him, only for the second foot to slip backward. He collapsed on his knees and one palm, still gripping the wall.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Mira cried out in mock horror. “Are you okay?”

The look cast upon her was murderous. She took a step back.

“Dukat! What happened?” Kira stormed over.

Mira’s stomach dropped out. Her eyes drew wide and mouth dropped open. Dukat? Seeing her face, his cruel expression turned calculating.

He ignored the Major and put out his hand to Mira, a gesture she took to mean that he was asking her to help him up. Scared stiff, she obeyed. “Oh, I’m _fine_ ,” he crooned. Locking her gaze, he brought her trapped hand up to his mouth. He took her scent first, and then grazed his lips on her knuckles. “This fetching young lady seems have had an accident. She will require some assistance with cleaning up a mess.” He grinned like a cat with a mouse caught under its paw.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be, or someone else to torment?” Kira snapped.

Dukat kept his eyes on Mira. “As a matter of fact, I do. Otherwise, I would be asking about” he squeezed her fingers “your plans for dinner tonight.” He finally released her hand. “Maybe another time.” He nodded to both ladies. “Good day.”

Kira said something, but it didn’t register. Mira turned to her, glassy-eyed. “That was…Did…Did I…”

Kira laughed. “Did you knock the feet from under Gul Dukat, the military leader of Cardassia? Yes, yes you did.” She reached out as Mira lurched forward, then hurried her off into the direction of the nearest head, where she threw up her breakfast and jumja juice.

Kira continued laughing as she rubbed the other woman’s back and helped her to clean up. “I did it on purpose,” Mira mumbled. “He sounded like a jerk.”

Kira laughed harder, but tried to stifle it with her hand. A snort escaped. “Oh, he is. He’s the biggest ass in the quadrant, and a constant thorn in my side.” She shook her head. “Jadzia would be so proud.”

Mira couldn’t remember which crew member Jadzia was, but the name rang a bell. At the moment, she was more worried about someone even more famous. Or infamous. _Did he know that I spilled the drink on purpose to humiliate him?_ she worried. _Will he return, and remember me?_

Not wanting to sound as frightened as she felt, she tried to sound composed. “I’ve heard that Gul Dukat can be…antagonistic. It was really eye-opening to witness that in person. But you stayed so calm. How can you do that? I don’t think I could ever be so diplomatic.”

The Major sighed. “I’ve had practice. _Lots_ and lots of practice. Besides, he knows better than to pull anything here on the station. Even so, if I were you, I’d stay out of sight the next time he strolls into town.”

“That won’t be too hard. Other than teaching whenever Professor O’Brien is off-station, I don’t have a lot to do.” Feeling a little improved (at least physically), Mira led the way out of the restroom.

“Well! I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you join me for lunch tomorrow? The new Bajoran restaurant, 1200 hours. I’ll introduce you to Lieutenant Commander Dax, and you can share your story.”

“Thank you, Major. I’ll be there.”

A final pat on the shoulder. “After what you did today, you can call me Nerys.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

That evening, Mira returned to work with Kaga. Dinnertime kept them both occupied almost non-stop, but once the traffic lightened, they took a break at a table out front.

Surrounded by the susurration of voices, Mira still felt vaguely uneased by the day’s earlier events. “Kaga, what would you recommend if I wanted to brush up on my self-defense?”

He stared at her piercingly. “Are you feeling threatened, little one?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer. She was worried about Dukat, but maybe she wouldn’t even be worth remembering to someone like him. She didn’t want come across as over-reacting. “It’s just that out here, on this station, sometimes you run into someone who is…forceful. And there are so many visitors with…shady dealings. I’d rather be prepared.” Remembering who she was speaking to, she added: “And of course I need to keep in peak condition, reactions sharp and all that.”

He flicked worm guts from his arm. “I am not the warrior I once was, or I would offer to train you myself. You have much honor; I can see that in you. Instead, I will recommend Jadzia Dax. She is proficient in many martial arts and with many weapons. Would you like me to speak to her on your behalf?”

Mira shook her head, holding in a smile. “Actually, I’m going to see her tomorrow. But thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, Dax is everywhere! When will she show her face?


	14. New Friends, New Perceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira learns a few things from Kira and the famous Jadzia Dax

Mira arrived to lunch ten minutes early to get a lay of the land. She chose an open table over a booth, and settled in to wait for the others. It wasn’t a long wait. Major Kira and Lieutenant Dax arrived together in the lift, the Bajoran spotting Mira first.

Brief introductions were made before Jadzia announced that she was starving. They each logged into the restaurant menu on their padds to place their orders. The officers spent a few minutes finishing a conversation they must have started on the way over, but Nerys soon brought them around to the previous day’s events.

Dax gleefully asked Mira to retell her encounter with Gul Dukat, cackling at her description of the Gul. Kira jumped in a few times to add her own impressions. “And when he walked away,” she gasped, “there was jumja juice running down his leg, and he left sticky footprints all the way down the corridor!”

Jadzia’s nose wrinkled up as she snickered. “That is something I’d pay to see.” She looked at Mira. “Color me impressed.”

Kia shook her head. “One of these days, he’s going to get what’s coming to him. ‘Those who thrive on the suffering of others will know only pain and not peace.’” Mira still wasn’t very religious, but many of the Prophet’s proclamations resonated with her, and she inwardly hoped this one held true.

The waiter arrived with their foods. The Lieutenant dug into her Bajoran shrimp as soon as the plate touched the table. “Nerys, are you _sure_ you don’t want any of this?”

The Major looked at her Hasperat souffle and alvas and gave a long-suffering sigh. “You _know_ my sect doesn’t consume animal flesh.”

“But it’s _divine_.” She swirled a morsel in an off-red sauce and popped it in her mouth, closing her eyes in apparent ecstasy. “Mmmmm.”

They each got to work on their meals for a few minutes, just enjoying the fresh ingredients. Mira’s agrendi sandwich on mapa bread was thankfully both affordable and delectable. She tried to watch the Trill woman surreptitiously; she’d never met a race with a symbiont as sentient as the host before. And Jadzia Dax was practically a legend on the station, if everything she’d heard was correct. When it looked like she was settled in comfortably, Mira spoke up.

“Lieutenant, when I told Kaga the other day that I was looking to improve my skills and maybe add in some self-defense, he recommended that I talk to you. I’ve heard that you’re an accomplished warrior when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. Do you ever give lessons, or train with a group?”

“It’s Jadzia, not Lieutenant; we’re not in Ops,” she said sunnily. “I’d love to help out, but my schedule is so full these days that I’m finding it hard to even get in my own practice. But I’ve heard there’re classes at Vince’s Gym.”

Nerys nodded. “I’ve taken a few lessons there myself. You should check it out.” She took in Mira’s outfit. “But you always look so dressed up. Do you have any workout clothes?”

Dax jumped in. “I _love_ your outfit. Where’d you get it?”

Mira answered Kira first. “I don’t have any, but I can get them replicated, right?” Then Jadzia. “I got it at Garak’s Clothiers.”

Kira nodded again. “You _can_ get them replicated. Although they don’t hold up as well as hand-crafted outfits. Those can be pretty pricey. But I guess you can afford that, right? Do you get all your clothes at Garak’s?”

“Most of my clothes are replicated, although I’ve picked up codes from a lot of places, so it gives me a lot of variety. But my nicer ensembles come from Mr. Garak. I honestly can’t afford anything expensive, but he was nice enough to arrange an agreement: I’ll wear some of his new designs to get them attention and bring him more customers, and he’ll let me have them for a lower price.”

“Wow!” Dax said. “I wish I could do that. His work is _so_ good.”

Kira laughed. “Those clothes wouldn’t last a day on you. Between Worf and some of those pranks you play…” She turned to Mira. “Was that his idea? That doesn’t sound like him.”

Mira tilted her head. “Well, Mr. Garak didn’t say it outright. It was more like he was bouncing the idea off me, and I volunteered.”

The Bajoran snorted. “Now, that _does_ sound more like him.”

Jadzia put her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. “I swear, you and Ben are the only ones who refer to him as _Mister_ Garak.” She tapped her cheek in thought. “Speaking of…Have you noticed him acting a little different lately?”

Nerys blinked owlishly, like that was the furthest thing from her mind. “No…I don’t think so. Why?”

Jadzia squinted. “He definitely has a little more pep in his step lately. And overall, he seems more… relaxed. No, that’s not the word.” She pursed her lips. “But I’ve definitely noticed a difference. And I think it’s a positive one.”

Mira’s mouth went a little dry. She hadn’t realized the senior staff was close to the tailor, and she definitely hadn’t expected them to gossip. Although that seemed to fall more on Dax than Kira.

“Maybe he’s finally getting some action,” Jadzia hypothesized. Her eyes lit up. She leaned over the table toward Nerys, hands clenching. “Do you think… he and Julian… you know?”

The Major shook her head. “Oh, come on now. They’ve been going at that for years,” she huffed. “I know they sometimes look like they’re going to devour each other instead of their lunches, but I’m sure Bashir has grown out of it by now. Besides, it’s _Garak_.” She stabbed the remains of her hasperat with the fork to punctuate the thought. “I know he’s helped us out a few times, but everyone knows he still can’t be trusted.”

Mira almost choked on her sandwich at the onslaught of information. Mr. Garak and Dr. Bashir, together? What did Nerys mean that he’d “helped them out a few times,” and yet still feel like he couldn’t be trusted?

Jadzia raised her eyebrows and grabbed an alva off her friend’s plate. “I went into his shop the other day, just to visit. I heard the strangest sound coming from the back room. You know Cardassians can’t whistle. But I _swear_ I heard Garak try.” She popped the fruit into her mouth triumphantly.

Nerys scoffed. “Garak? No.” But she paused, fork still in hand. She looked a little green around the gills, if that was possible for a Bajoran. “Has Julian been acting any differently lately?”

“He _did_ say that he’s been seeing someone. He’s not sure if it’s going to get serious or not.” Mira was vaguely pleased that he’d mentioned her, although it sounded like he hadn’t shared her name. “You know how cautious he’s been after Leeta.”

Nerys rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose, but wisely remained silent.

Jadzia bent forward, eyes twinkling. “Do you think he’s seeing Garak? On the sly? He was so obsessed for a while. We all know they can both keep a _really_ big secret.” Before Mira had a chance to digest _that_ , the Trill turned to her. “How well do you know Garak? What do you think?”

“We’ve um…well, I…” _Did_ Mira know the tailor very well? By the prophets, she didn’t even know his first name! She opted for a smidgeon of truth. “We’ve talked some, but mostly about plants and music. And clothes, obviously. I… don’t think I’ve known him long enough to tell if he’s changed.” She glanced at the Bajoran sitting next to her, then away. “Although he’s one of the few people on the station I’ve spent much time with.”

Kira folded her arms and leaned back in her seat. “Yeah, well, just be careful, all right? It was nice of him to sell you those outfits for a discount, but you never know what he’s planning behind the scenes. You don’t want to end up owing any favors to a Cardassian spy who’s allergic to telling the truth.”

“A _what_?”


	15. I Spy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira mulls over what she's learned, and goes to see the "tailor"

Mira lay in bed staring at the angular ceiling. It’d been nearly forty hours, and she still didn’t know what to think. A spy? She hadn’t even heard of the Obsidian Order until now. And yet it suddenly seemed like everyone but her knew that Mr. Garak was more than just a tailor. It explained why she couldn’t read him as well as other people. He really _had_ been trained to block out psionic readings.

But that was just a minor concern, wasn’t it?

She’d dug up as much as she could find on Cardassia’s covert intelligence organization, and what little she’d found was daunting: surveillance, assassinations, torture, and all-around political manipulation. If he really had been a member, what had he been involved in? Had he murdered people?

And weaving in and out of those thoughts was the knowledge that he and Bashir had apparently been having weekly lunches for years, and some of their friends thought they were dating. Or something. She recalled the debate she’d seen between them, and it did lend some credence to the rumor.

It was a small consolation that they didn’t discuss their more intimate details with one another, like who they were seeing. At least, she sure hoped they didn’t.

Unable to rest, she stalked into the living room. Tolek had come out for the night, and she sat down to watch the Vulcan snake slither around his habitat. She put her chin in her hands and sighed. “What am I going to do?” she asked him. He stared at her unblinkingly, then turned his head. She wasn’t sure what caught his attention, but she followed the direction of his gaze to the wall console, giving her an idea.

Who could she talk to? She didn’t have any siblings, didn’t stay in contact with her cousins or other extended family. There a few “friends” that she kept in touch with from this starship or that planet, but they weren’t that close. And what could she even tell them anyway? _Hey, I’m kind of dating a guy who may be a killer Cardassian (and I don’t mean he’s handsome, haha!) and he has a crush on this other guy I’m seeing. What’s your advice?_

There was only one other person she could think of, and the more she mulled over it, the better the idea seemed. Keiko had been living on the station for years. Her husband was close friends with Dr. Bashir. And she’d spent time with Garak, too. To top it off, she didn’t seem like the type to gossip; she would share facts and not rumors, and could be trusted not to divulge what Mira brought to her. She sent a non-priority message to the professor so it wouldn’t wake anyone.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Mira took her time travelling from the habitat ring to the promenade. There was still a lot to think about. She’d first intended to comm or send a note to Garak asking him to meet, but the thought made her cringe. Any form of a “we need to talk” message was not likely to convey a positive implication; she’d sent and received enough to know. So she had decided just to go in person, although she still wasn’t sure what she was going to say when she saw him, and confronting him in his shop probably wasn’t the surest course of action either. And what if he was busy or with a customer? Well then, she’d come back another time, right?

As she left the lift, one thing became clear: she wasn’t nearly as nervous as she should be. It wasn’t just that she was having a difficult time reconciling the gardener and tailor with a hardened operative; but she couldn’t help but feel that most of what he’d shared with her had been truth. He’d certainly known what he was doing with the Venturynal plant, and he obviously _was_ a very good tailor. And why lie about music preferences? What could one gain from dissembling about that?

Maybe she was just kidding herself. Maybe she just didn’t want to believe that she could sleep with someone who carried such a dark past.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the store’s entrance. She stepped in.

“Ah, Ms. Palmira! Please come in. How delightful to see you again,” Garak’s familiar voice said from the service counter.

There was no blush or stammering, no leer or smirking, no allusion at all to what they’d shared the other night as she walked over. His customer service mask was well in place. She put her hands on the counter and waited politely for him to finish mending the jacket in his hands. Instead, he set it down.

“Lieutenant Dax was in just yesterday evening. She informed me that she would be more than happy to model some of my clothing should I ever need some advertising. I wonder how she came about with that idea.”

“Oh. We had lunch, and when she complimented me on my wardrobe, I mentioned that it came from your store.” He waited. “And I did mention our arrangement.”

He was still for a moment, and she worried that she’d offended him or somehow nullified the partnership. “Well, I informed her that I already have one svelte female engaged, but that I will keep her in mind if I should ever require her service in the future.” He smiled thinly. “She took it with her customary grace, of course. And then we conversed about a myriad of other topics, as we do on occasion.”

Which possibly meant that she’d told him what else had been discussed during lunch. Maybe she wanted to give him a heads-up. Which would mean that at lunch the other day, she hadn’t been gossiping, so much as…just sharing information about a friend. A spy Garak may have once been, but if he’d gone so far as to be trusted by both Lieutenants Dax and Bashir, she was willing to accept their judgement.

“I guess I just stopped by to talk, too,” Mira decided. “Unless there are any new fashions that are ready for a debut?”

He raised his eyebrows and inclined his head, acknowledging what hadn’t been said. “In fact, I do need some sartorial assistance. Why don’t you head to the fitting area, and I’ll be right back.”

Expecting a dress, or perhaps a tunic or suit, she saw instead what looked like a small blanket draped over an arm when he reappeared.

“I noticed you admiring a robe a couple days ago.” He didn’t refer to _where_ she’d seen it. “But the cut was made for Cardassian neck ridges. I decided to make a new copy with a neckline more fitting for humans or Bajorans.” He held it up. “I have my mannequins, but would you be so kind as so try it on so I can see how well it moves with the wearer?”

“Of course! It’s…it’s beautiful!” The robe was very similar to the original: brocade on the outside and thick fluff on the inside. But while his had been dark blue, this one was…was it light blue? Light purple? The velvety fabric seemed to change in the light, with the insides of the folds being one color and the outsides another. And on top of that was a silvery sheen. “Is that periwinkle?” she asked.

He smiled indulgently. “A human might refer to it as such. I believe the vendor—who is Bolian—called it ‘nebula haze.’ You know how particular Bolians are with any color containing blue.” She hadn’t known, but considering the tones of their skin, she could understand.

Taking it reverently, she draped it over her shoulders and slid her arms in. Even over her clothes, she felt luxurious and incredibly warm.

But Garak was shaking his head and tsking. “Now that won’t do. Your clothes are making it bulky. It isn’t hanging right and won’t flow when you move. No, no. You’ll have to take your clothes off.”

In deference to his professional facial expression, Mira refrained from a snarky reply. But she thought she could see mischief in his eyes. “I suppose you’re right. Just give me a moment.” She stepped into the small room and shut the curtain. After hanging the robe on a hook, she took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for a repeat of the last time she’d tried on clothing for him. That definitely wasn’t why she’d come in the first place.

Regardless, she really did want to try on the robe. She hurried up out of her clothes and into the thick garment. Oh, it was so _soft._ She adjusted the lay a little, and did a little twirl in the mirror. It had a very flattering cut. Surely, he would be pleased with the product.

Mira opened the curtain and stepped out. “Mr. Garak, you are by far the most talented clothier I know.”

His mouth twitched. “And no doubt the _only_ clothier you know.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Now, that isn’t true. I’ve met several through the years, and shopped on dozens of planets. I was friends with someone who designed replicator codes for clothing, too. They were extremely creative, but none of their clothing came even close to your quality.”

“Well, thank you dear,” he said distractedly, waving his hand to the side as a prompt to turn.

She held her pose but rotated. He stepped up and began poking about and adjusting the position of the collar, then retying the belt. With that single-minded focus, it was easy to see how much work he put into his creations.

“How long have you been a tailor?” Mira asked. It was an innocuous question, but she could tell it had grabbed his attention.

“Oh, I’d say a decade now, more or less,” he said dismissively. He knelt down to study the bottom hem.

Major Kira had said he was around 50 in human years, but for the long-lived Cardassian race, that was like being in his thirties for a human. What else had he been up to?

“So, what did you do before _that_?” she enquired.

He leaned back on his feet, hands on his thighs to look up at her. His smile was bland, although she couldn’t decipher what his eyes were saying.

“Like you, I’ve done a little of this and a little of that. I was a gardener on Romulus for a brief time. I spent a year running a cart in the farmer’s market. I’ve been an aide in a few government offices.” She bet he had. “I’ve had a dreadfully boring life, I’m ashamed to say.”

Mira knelt down on the floor with him, pursing her lips. “Now, _that_ I find hard to believe.” Agitated at her flagrant disrespect for expensive materials, he pulled her back up. “Someone as interesting and experienced as yourself must have seen a lot over the years,” she insisted.

“I could say the same for you,” he answered. “Just how many places have you lived? How many jobs have you held?”

“I never claimed my life was boring! And…I’ve lived in 11 places over the past 18 years. As for how many jobs, I’m not sure that could be specified. I’ve been employed through official channels 6 times, but I worked freelance alongside several of my positions and between jobs.”

Garak picked up his scanner and began running it around her, taking more measurements. “I’ve met very few people with such a _varied_ past. Such a non-sedentary lifestyle is usually only common in traders or wanderers involved with—shall we say— _suspicious_ activities.”

“Mr. Garak, are you implying that I’m… _shady?”_ She laughed. That he, of all people, would insinuate that!

He stepped back, keeping his gaze on the device. “Oh, I wouldn’t know anything about that. After all, I _am_ just a simple tailor.”

Mira was tempted to stick her tongue out at him in a childish display of frustration. This was completely unfair.

He finally met her eyes. “But Palmira, consider for a moment. With your Vulcan mind, Betazoid senses, and…” he looked her down and up, “very human body, surely you can see how your lifestyle would look to others.” No, she really had no idea what he meant. She wrinkled her forehead in question. He elaborated. “An intelligent, attractive, young woman who can read people, traveling from planet to planet, starship to starbase, never staying in any one place for very long. You must have made many acquaintances and not only come across dangerous circumstances and characters, but come out on _top_ , seeing as how you are standing here today.” He raised his chin slightly, and she swore she could see something like respect. He lowered his voice. “What I’m saying, my dear regnar, is that _you_ … would make an excellent _spy_.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

After changing back into her clothes, Garak had taken the robe into the back for some final adjustments. They walked together towards the front of the shop, but Mira stopped before reaching the door.

“I’m glad to help you with modeling your clothing. But I’m not sure what to do with the robe when it’s finished. I don’t normally walk around in public like…that.”

“Oh my. You’re absolutely right. What could I have been thinking?” He smiled roguishly. “I suppose we’ll just have to find another use for it.”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Unable to contain her curiosity, Mira made a second, more thorough search on Garak when she got home. After nearly 45 minutes of sifting through station records and publications, she was ready to give up. On an impulse, she ran a quick investigation through a couple Bajoran public journals. There, she struck gold.

On an overview of a historical conference, a number of guests and speakers were pictured. Sandwiched between Captain Sisko and Lieutenant Dax was a thoroughly put-out gentleman. His name tag read, “Elim Garak, Former Cardassian Oppressor.” Mira giggled into her hands.


	16. Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrating the Bajoran holiday of Ak Pagh, including a holosuite adventure with a roller coaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (only semi-beta'd...we die like Jem'Hadar)

The first day of _Ak-Pagh,_ the group gathered outside the replimat. Nerys and Mira had arrived first. The major looked surprised to see the woman she’d just had lunch with a few days prior, but before she had a chance to say anything, Julian popped out of the infirmary. Miles was next, explaining that Keiko had taken the children do activities more suited to them. They milled around for a few more minutes, watching as the vendors and participants continued to set up around the promenade. 

Banners adorned the ceilings and walls. Most of them seemed decorative, but the room-sized hangings draping from the 2-story ceiling included the flags of Bajor, the Federation, and Deep Space Nine. Nearly everyone was adorned in bright colors, so that it was like standing inside a kaleidoscope.

Jadzia and Worf arrived last, the Trill rushing up to give everyone hugs as her husband observed the surroundings and finally spared a nod to everyone in general as he addressed them. “Our apologies for the late arrival. My _par’Mach’kai_ wanted to make sure she had the perfect outfit for today.” One would expect a Klingon to frown at this, but his deep voice was warm and his eyes absurdly fond. The mate in question twirled around, demonstrating the flare of her skirt, then bowed.

“Any excuse to dress up! So, Nerys, tell us more about _Ak Pagh.”_ Their small crowd joined the other pedestrians.

“ _Ak-Pagh_ is a celebration of keeping youthfulness of spirit. I’m not sure there’s a direct translation for it; you could say “young pagh” or “pure pagh,” but neither quite gets the meaning correct. It’s observed every five years, ensuring that every Bajoran will participate at least twice as a child. The main feature is music, but just most of our other holidays, you’ll find acrobats and jugglers and other performances.”

A man dressed in a riot of colored fabrics all sewn haphazardly together pranced past them, gesturing theatrically to anyone who caught his eye. His eyes and mouth were wide, and the makeup around them exaggerated the appearance. He didn’t look so much like a clown as a jester in a perpetual state of wonder.

Jadzia spoke up. “He’s an _ar’ara,_ right?” Kira nodded. The Trill addressed the group. “The _ar’ara_ is a figure representing the youthful pagh; he or she demonstrates how to live life joyfully and with the eyes of a child. In ancient times on Earth, he’d be equivalent to the Fool in the tarot deck.” Mira actually knew what she was talking about, and she was right, the man had been the embodiment of innocence, wonder, and free spirit.

Nerys pointed to a few youths farther down the way dressed in a similar fashion. “You’ll probably see dozens of them today.” Her face clouded over. “Ten years ago, there were… none.” Dax passed from her husband to put her hand on the other woman’s shoulder.

Miles had been silent so far, but he found himself studying a chiming fixture along the wall that had drawn a small gathering. “What do you call this?” he asked.

“That’s a Trill convection chime!” Jadzia exclaimed. “And a beautiful one, too.”

“Well, ah, what’s it doing here now, then?” the chief enquired, looking perplexed.

Mira jumped in. “We made those in the schoolroom for a unit on quadrant-wide music. The students did such a great job that Captain Sisko allowed us to place them around the station.”

Nerys concurred. “And since they fit with the spirit of the festival—you know, being made by kids and playing music—we left them up. I think they really do add to the atmosphere,” she finished, giving Mira a warm smile. “If fact, Mira has contributed more to the station than these. That flag up there,” she pointed over their shoulders and up, “is of her making.” A collection of amazed faces turned to her, and she found herself blushing.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” Julian commented. He put his hand casually on the small of her back. “You never told me that,” he mentioned privately as they returned to strolling.

“I guess it never came up,” she replied.

Having seen a good section of the lower level, they boarded the lift. As the doors opened, the sound of a Klingon concertina greeted them. Mira grinned; even Kaga was in the spirit, or at least capitalizing on it.

Miles groaned. “Kaga and that damned accordion.”

Worf growled. “The concertina is _not_ an accordion. It is not even _just_ an instrument; it is a weapon, and only played by warriors who have earned the honor.” Miles mumbled something under his breath. Mira didn’t hear it clearly, but Julian coughed to cover his chuckle.

The sound of another instrument trickled in from the distance, this one purer and more pronounced in individual tones. Major Kira perked up. “Come, come! This just arrived yesterday; I’m dying to see it!” They followed her past food stalls and dancers to an open area dominated by a large contraption.

It was easily identifiable as a piano, but nothing like any of them had seen before, bar Nerys. The keyboard was long and concave, lower in the center by the musician, and swooping up like wings and around her sides. The keys were longer than those of a piano, and there were no small black ones, but every eleventh key was pastel green.

“The _Eenta-ena_ is made of moba wood,” Kira said as they stopped a small distance away. “It has 131 keys, although the uppermost ones on each side aren’t used very often, except in certain ceremonies.” She pointed to the rough lid covering the internal mechanisms. The top is actual bark from the tree, reminding us of the sacrifice made by the moba spirit. I think they heat it to reverse the shape into a bowl.”

They drew closer to listen to the music quietly. The tune was sweet and cheerful, the notes deeper and fuller than a Terran piano. The song slowed its pace and became more gentle, reminiscent of a trickling creek. Mira found herself relaxing and remembering times that she’d gone hiking and sat by a stream. She felt Julian’s hand slide into hers, and she glanced up at him, surprised. He gave her a shy smile. She squeezed gently, and the smile expanded. He squeezed back.

The woman playing the _Eenta-ena_ wasn’t seated or standing; she was leaning on something like a stool that supported her. Captain Sisko stood behind and to the side of the woman. He somehow managed to look serene and focused at the same time. Julian leaned in towards Mira, murmuring under the music. “The Captain already knows how to play the Terran piano. I’ve seen a clip of him playing in his father’s restaurant; he’s pretty good. But you see, as the Emissary, he’s making an effort to learn more about Bajoran culture. I heard that after the festival is over, he’s going to start lessons on the _Eenta-ena.”_ Nerys elbowed him, and he shut up.

Mira could feel him suppressing some of his naturally giddy energy, but his fingers wouldn’t be restrained. She could feel them fluttering in a pattern against her knuckles as he observed the pianist. “Do you play the piano?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I’m sure I could pick it up though. It looks simple enough.” And there was his confidence that could be mistaken for arrogance. She wondered just how quickly he’d learn.

The time slot for their appointment in the holosuite was coming up, so the group departed. Even so, they arrived at Quark’s with a quarter hour to spare. Mira stayed quiet, observing the dynamics of the group. They were all so comfortable with one another, laughing and taking jabs at each other. Julian flitted from one conversation to the next, laughing with Quark over something a customer said, then having a detailed conversation about the lack of genetic drift in Trill symbionts.

Miles broke in between them. “Oy, aren’t we supposed to be having a little fun? Why are you talking shop?”

“Sod off! I happen to think this topic _is_ fun!” Julian answered. At first, Mira had thought the chief was being insufferably rude, but she saw Bashir shove him and get shoved back, and both men were grinning.

When their turn came up, Nerys dismissed herself. “During _Ak Pagh,_ we stick to more traditional methods of entertainment,” she explained. “To keep our pagh pure, we abstain from using technology.” She rolled her eyes when Miles crossed his arms. “As much as we can, anyway. Have fun, you guys!”

They filed in. Everyone turned to Julian, who turned to Mira. “It’s, ah, actually _her_ program.” Four pairs of eyes looked at her expectantly.

“Ok, then. Um, Computer: load settings choiceboard.” One wall turned into a console with a long menu. There were so many choices. She had a couple ideas ready to limit the options. “Let’s start with the location. My favorites are in the Andorian system: the volcanoes and fire plains of Vulcan or the floating mountains of Pandor.”

Worf voted for Vulcan, but everyone else chose Pandor.

“Speed? Slower is good for sight-seeing; faster is going to toss you around a bit.”

Miles spoke up. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of sight-seeing meself.” He sounded a little nervous.

Julian was next. “I thought you said you wanted to have some _fun._ I vote for fast.” Worf and Jadzia concurred.

“Ok, how about thrill level: low, medium, or high?”

Jadzia put a finger on her chin. “Is there a choice for medium-high?” There was. “I’m not sure exactly what type of thrill we’re in for, but just in case.”

Mira didn’t want everyone to get bored, so she left most of the remaining settings on her personal preferences, set to human standard. Gravity, friction, cart size, track type, et cetera. Otherwise, a person could spend hours just customizing. She’d know.

A punch of the “start” button, and the scene bloomed around them. They stood on a platform next to a line of carts on a track. The sky was a vibrant blue, and the ground was covered with lush foliage as tall as they were, overshadowed by behemoth, vine-draped trees. The horizon dropped away only 30 meters off, and Mira’s stomach dropped with it. She’d forgotten how this one began.

“Alright,” she said shakily. “So, we’re on top of one of the floating mountains. We’re going to start with a pretty steep descent. Does everyone have a strong stomach?”

Jadzia’s eyes were huge. She exuberantly jumped into a front seat and waved everyone else over. Worf was more cautious; he took a deep breath and scanned the area. Satisfied, he reluctantly took the spot next to her. Julian and Mira sat two cars back from them, since there was plenty of space. “C’mon, Miles!” Julian called.

Miles stood next to the track. “I’m gonna regret this.” He stepped in towards the end of the train.

Once everyone was seated, harnesses settled down over their shoulders. “The, uh, safeties are on, right?” Miles asked.

“ _Of course_ they are Miles,” Julian admonished. “Try not to be a spoilsport.”

The carts began to move forward. Despite her previous experience with the program, Mira felt her stomach clench. _It’s all pretend. It’s not real. We’re really inside a holosuite,_ she repeated to herself. She wasn’t sure if Julian could see her face or sense the anxiety, but he took her hand. They neared the precipice, opening out of the undergrowth to see a wide-open panorama, all skies and floating mountains, waterfalls cascading into the wind, and…a drop toward the surface.

“BLOODY HELL!” came a cry from behind. And they plunged.

Everyone screamed.

The freefall lasted for a rough three seconds, then the ground rushed toward them as their stomachs tried to rise into their mouths. Once the track leveled out over the surface, they calmed down a little, but the relief was minimal as it dodged around craggy hills and trees as tall as skyscrapers. The anticipation built again as the track veered upward and to the right toward another mountain, spiraling around it. As they crested the top, the carts slowed.

“Are we done?” asked O’Brien. “Oh no.”

The next precipice approached, and the hand around Mira’s clenched tighter. On this second drop, everyone except Worf screamed. She wondered what his face looked like.

The forest on the surface opened up to a wide, shallow canyon crossed by stone arches. The track in front of them rose sharply, then dipped down to pass under one. At the top of the hill, they could see that the canyon was several kilometers long, and the track didn’t rise back out. The carts flew down the hill, under the arch, and then immediately back up again to make a loop _around_ the stone. Worf yelled something like “What?!” and a garble of Klingon.

The coaster rose, dipped, and dodged between the canyon walls, whipping them past outcroppings and around corners. A dead end approached, with the track passing between two waterfalls and into inky darkness. They flew through, and then slowed to a stop.

The lights gradually came up around them, with the original holosuite walls reappearing. After they wobbled their way out of the train, it disappeared.

Before they could rehash the experience, Miles jumped. “Blimey, what’s this?” There was a large puddle on the floor in front of him.

Bashir doubled over in laughter. “I think… _that_ ,” he gasped, “is Odo.”

The puddle rippled, then oozed upward and took the form of the Constable. He eyes darted left, right. “Is it..is it over?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

Jadzia put her arm around him. “Odo, what are you doing here? I thought you had something important to do. You told me you couldn’t come.”

He stood up straight, arranging his uniform, trying to look as dignified as possible. “I did some research on these _rollercoasters_ you mentioned. According to the records, they were fraught with danger. Broken tracks, maiming of limbs, deaths. I wanted to ensure this program was safe,” he said gruffly.

Dax huffed. “You could have just come along with being sneaky about it.”

He refrained from answering.

As they moved toward the exit, Worf approached Mira. “This was a true test of endurance and bravery,” he said to the air over her head. “Thank you for allowing us to join you today.” He met her eyes, and she saw a form of esteem there. “Might you allow me to borrow it some time?” Jadzia came back and grabbed his arm, pulling him away. She smiled at Mira, but addressed her husband.

“Don’t worry, I’m already planning on buying one of my own. _Our_ own.” The three of them trailed out. As everyone crossed the walkway, plans were made to rest for a few hours and meet up at Quark’s for drinks in the evening.

Julian hung back, softly taking Mira’s wrist. “There’s still a whole forty minutes left on the holosuite reservation.” He stepped closer, placing his other hand on her hip. “We could make another go of it, just you and me this time. What do you say?”

She dragged him back into the suite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Canon: Klingon concertina, Sisko knowing how to play the piano, features of planet Vulcan  
> • Original Content: Ak-Pagh Festival, Bajoran piano  
> • Borrowed Content: planet Pandar based on Pandora from Avatar  
> • I love rollercoasters. I really do. But writing this absolutely knotted up my stomach, lol.


	17. The Second Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A far different roller coaster ride this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you still following this, I promise I haven't forgotten about it!  
> CW/TW: Discussion of mental health concerns

Julian and Mira reentered the holosuite and called back up the menu. Faced with the wide selection of options, they stared. 

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what I thought was going to happen,” Bashir laughed. “Do you have any recommendations?”

Mira had a few ideas. “Well, I’ve been curious about the Fantasia IV series. They’re set in the Cigam system.” She pulled it up on the screen. They studied the descriptions of the five planets available. 

Julian pointed to one. “Xibet guarantees a magical ride through a lush glowing rainforest at night,” he read. “If we want something a little calmer than earlier, the average track differential is only five meters. We could…relax and…take in the scenery.” 

Mira had read a brief article on Xibet a few years ago. It was one of the most-level planets in the sector. She selected it and pulled up the settings. “Let me just check the settings, in case I need to make any adjustments.”

He watched her pull up, scrutinize, and alter item after item. “How do yor remember all of this? And know how it all works together? Are you a programmer, too?”

She shrugged. “Maybe it’s the Vulcan in me? I have excellent memory. And my brain catches patterns really quickly, so I’m a fast learner.” Which wasn’t always a good thing. She sighed. “I had a coworker once that invited me to play racquetball. She taught me one afternoon and then offered up a friendly game when I had the basics down. I beat her by a wide margin. And no, she didn’t let me win. She never invited me to play again, or to do anything else.”

“That’s a shame, that she couldn’t handle your talent. Maybe you’ll play a game with me, sometime?” She smiled again. “And for the record: I think your mind is fantastic.”

“Sure, it’s great for mastering new skills and remembering a conversation word-for-word two weeks later, or for messing around with holosuite programs, but it’s definitely not wired for social interactions.” 

He cocked his head. “Would you believe me if I said I understand exactly what you mean?” Taken aback, she stared. “Sure, I’m friends with the senior staff  _ now. _ But it has taken me  _ so long _ to get where I am. When I first started this assignment, no one took me seriously, or even liked me. I made a right arse of myself with Major Kira. Everyone thought I nattered on and was…well, they never said so, but I get the impression they thought I was desperate for attention.”

Mira stepped closer to him and put an arm around his waist. “Yeah. As a kid, my teachers identified me as sociologically and neurologically atypical, because I related better to them than the other students and had nearly perfect scores. I had a ton of passions, but at that age, kids are having fun, not debating the merits of animal ownership or analyzing the implications of plant consciousness. Needless to say, I didn’t have a lot of friends. The school sent me to a therapist.” She left out the fact that her parents hadn’t even  _ noticed  _ their daughter’s struggles. “But once he saw my bloodline, I was disqualified. My behavior was marked as ‘typical for having Vulcan ancestry,’ and that was that.”

Turning to put his hands on Mira’s shoulders, Julian looked at her earnestly. “And yet you seem to be doing so well. You’ve had an amazing career history. You’ve contributed to art and writing and even politics now. All that without any intervention. I’m impressed. Really.” 

She put her hands on top of his, and dropped her head. “Thank you. But... sometimes I wish I could have been more. I wish I’d had more friends, more connections, more confidence. I  _ wish  _ I could have joined Starfleet.” That had been a dear dream of hers for years, and even now, sometimes she wondered about taking some of their off-campus courses.

His face was inscrutable. “Yes, well, be careful what you wish for.” She could feel that he was holding back more, and almost asked for him to elaborate. But he leaned forward and laid a kiss on her forehead. “Let’s get back to the ride. I’d like to reap the benefits of that gifted brain of yours.”

He reached around her to launch the selected program, and they were immediately engulfed by darkness. A faint blue-green glow faded in, with a spotlight on a pitch-black train. They climbed into the front and sat down. This one had no overhead harness, just handles at the top front of each car.

The spotlight faded as the ride began. The track was smooth, the seats soft. Around them, large plants and fungi sprung to life, covered in neon patterns, luminous in the dark. The ride picked up speed until it reached a brisk but unhurried pace. As their eyes adjusted to the night, they found that besides the bioluminescent designs, there were deep blue, green, and purple leaves on all sides. A giant cone-shaped creature released a cloud of spores that lit up like tiny stars before drifting away on the breeze. Julian put his arm around her and she leaned in.

“Xibet is an L-class planet,” Mira commented. For once, she was with someone who might actually appreciate her random knowledge. “It has some of the most diverse plant and fungal life in the quadrant, and they’re near-sentient. They communicate with their own species and others through chemical signals. It’s considered uninhabitable because the airborne substances are almost all toxic or hallucinogenic to mammalian races.”

“I’m glad that part was left out of our simulation,” Julian joked. He rubbed her arm. “I have to say I’m glad you introduced me to rollercoasters. I hope we can try a few more in the future.”

“Just wait until you mess with the parameters! Some of the most fun I’ve had was dialing things up or down for experimentation. If you decrease the gravity enough, the carts just shoot right off the track and you find yourself floating through the air.”

Julian pulled her to sit sideways across his lap. His hazel eyes had grown serious. “That sounds absolutely terrific. Palmira Vawn, you are an incredible woman,” he said fondly. “I think I could fall for you.” He dipped his head to press his lips to hers. A wave of his adoration wrapped around her, and she curled into him. She sank into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

The train carried on along its meandering course, but she closed her eyes rather than concentrate on the scenery. They continued to embrace and kiss deeply, occasionally locking gazes and laughing merrily. They travelled out of the forest and began to skirt around a lake that held its own glow, with darting shadows beneath the surface, but the two travelers only caught glimpses beyond the other’s faces.

As the turn tightened, Mira felt herself tipping. To remedy her imbalance she faced Julian head-on, putting one knee on each side of his hips. The intensity between them kicked up a notch with the intimate posture. Hands began to roam: hers running up his arms, over his pectorals, behind his head and into his hair to pull his mouth harder against hers; his hands down her thighs, back up, along her waist and ribs up to under her arms, where his fingers grazed her breasts.

They moaned into each other’s mouths, torsos undulating against each other. Mira was glad that she’d decided to wear one of her shorter dresses; she could feel a hardness beginning to rise beneath her.

“How long is this particular program?” Julian asked as he slid his palms back to her hips.

A buzz of excitement danced through her nerves. “Eleven minutes.”

He nipped at her earlobe. “That gives us 7 minutes and 18 seconds. Have you ever…?”

“I have not, but I’m willing to try.” She raised up on her knees, watching Julian lick her collar bone as he slid her underwear down her legs and then gently under each knee and past her feet. She gripped the handles behind his head as he went about removing his own lower garments, then settled her back down against him.

The scenery behind the train showed that they’d moved into a new area, with giant luminescent white flowers that rose and fell like jellyfish on stalks. It was a shame that such a magical landscape wasn’t being properly enjoyed. 

They returned to kissing and caressing, taking turns dipping hands down to rub and massage where skin met skin between them. When the groans and gasps and touches grew more frantic, they reached a mutual agreement, whereby Mira was lifted to the tip of Julian’s member, and she slid down gratefully. She clawed at his back as he filled her until they could grow no closer. He slid forward so that they were slightly off the edge of the seat, giving him leverage to thrust and her to move up and down along his length. 

Though they had been mostly keeping their eyes closed as they gave in to sensation, they both noticed when light ceased altogether and a chill crept in. They paused for a moment, certain it wasn’t time for the ride to end but unsure of what was happening. 

A soft fuzzy light drew closer. They could finally make out that they’d entered a cave. The moss coating the ceiling was glowing. The track began to descend, and large crystals began to appear along the cave walls, pastel pinks, corals, and golds. Picturesque as it was, they found themselves drawn back to their own private delight.

Their lips crashed together as they moved, the pace slowly increasing. Mira was tempted to push Julian back to lie on the seat so she could lay over him. But something niggled in the back of her mind that she should pay attention to her surroundings. She angled to kiss his neck so she could look around. The scenery hadn’t changed but… She grabbed the handles behind Julian.

“Do you smell…sulphur?”

He jerked his head up at the same time she turned around. The tunnel opened up to an enormous cavern. The ceiling was invisible, but the far wall could be seen, only because it was lit up by a lake of lava, directly below them.

Julian lurched forward to grab the bars in front of him, and before he had a chance to curse, the train was hurtling downhill. The temperature shot up as they dropped toward the molten rock, only to swing back up again and twist side to side over the pit. 

Mira honestly couldn’t tell if either of them had screamed, but they laughed hysterically as the track leveled out. They entered a new cave, this one almost pitch black, but much rougher that the previous. With the adrenaline spiking in her blood, Mira reclaimed Julian’s mouth, amazed to find that he was still tucked inside her.

The cart jerked and bounced so much that they hardly had to do any work other than remaining on the seat. Their kisses grew sloppy as pants became gasps and cries. Eager to finish before the program did, they bounced and thrust vigorously. A tingling started in Mira’s toes, then into the pads of her feet. She ground against him harder and felt him stiffen out beneath her. They both came at nearly the same time, their bodies straightening out like boards and then collapsing together. 

The track was smooth again, though neither could say when that had happened. They emerged from the cave into a plain of sea-green grasses under a purple velvet sky. Mira buried her face in Julian’s chest, too winded to appreciate it. 

When the cart stopped, they stayed as they were for a couple minutes more, just breathing against each other and giving an affectionate squeeze here and there. But eventually, they pulled apart and set to putting their clothes back on. Julian stepped out first and gallantly offered his palm. Mira took it as she stepped onto the deck of the holosuite.

They both knew they wanted to say something, but instead just laughed quietly every time their eyes met. Finally, he pulled her up to his chest and wrapped his arms around her, and brought her in for a final kiss. This one had none of the fire of the previous one, but it said so much more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- The plant and fungal life were also inspired by Pandora  
> \- Considering how bright the two of them are, they should have realized that a flat track for most of the ride was going to have to rise or fall at SOME point to average out to five meters. I guess they were distracted.  
> \- If you like the idea of customized roller coasters, are into retro games, or just plain bored, check this out: https://www.funderstanding.com/educators/coaster/  
> (It's not mine, just fun)


End file.
